


Beep Beep, Boris

by slrandomperson



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: (other relationships in background), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But boris and theo get many moments, Confessions, Crossover, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, POV Multiple, Pining, Richie and Boris are cousins ??, Running Away, Slow Burn, four boys living in a house, plot is kinda ambiguous idk, reddie-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-01-20 19:12:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21286766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slrandomperson/pseuds/slrandomperson
Summary: "Richie freezes as he and Eddie stand in front of the blindingly white door. He can't believe that they're actually here now—that they have seriously run away from home. There's no going back. They have nothing. No one but each other, and possibly Richie's weird Ukrainian cousin."---In which Richie hears about Boris and Theo running away to Illinois and gets the same idea with Eddie. Four boys, a dog, no money, one house. What could go wrong?(Definitely nothing that has to do with the fact that Richie Tozier is completely, irrevocably, hopelessly in love with his best friend.)[1/20/21] I AM PLANNING ON FINISHING THIS!! I'm just distracted with a lot of things at the moment. So sorry about the wait!]
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Boris Pavlikovsky, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier & Theodore Decker & Boris Pavlikovsky, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Richie Tozier & Theodore Decker, Theodore Decker & Boris Pavlikovsky, Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 19
Kudos: 143





	1. "only look for what you can find"

**Author's Note:**

> This will take a very long time to finish, but feel free to spam my comments to keep me motivated!
> 
> I hope you enjoy <3
> 
> Boreo playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/slrandomperson/playlist/4Ucy8Ax2AAInDAh2DAHWnE?si=dZBPt0z4QOG1UpDcI29U_g

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maggie Tozier is not an alcoholic but this fact has been altered for plot convenience.

The first time Richie learns about someone running away from home, it's when he overhears his parents chatting in the kitchen. It's casual and just loud enough for Richie to hear from upstairs, which is unusual. There's either screaming or silence in the Tozier house. 

Richie knows close to nothing about his parents outside of what goes on in their home. He doubts that there's anything interesting, really—except for the fact that his mother's half-sister ran away to Ukraine, where she met a Russian guy, had a kid, and died. The kid and the communist bounced around from country to country and eventually wound up in Las Vegas, where the now-sixteen-year-old boy inevitably ended up running away to Illinois (a more recent development).

As soon as he hears about this, he knows his parents' intention—at least, his mother's. Maybe a child running away is a terrible reflection on the parents, but it can't be any worse than the way Richie acts now. It would be better for everyone if he was gone.

But he refuses to entertain the idea of giving his mom what she wants. 

He finds himself climbing through that familiar space between the pane of Eddie Kaspbrak's open window and the sill that typically holds it. Richie shakes his best friend awake and beams at him with shining, owlish eyes behind Coke-bottle glasses.

"Hey, Eds. Scoot over, would ya'?"

Eddie doesn't even open his eyes, just sighs and makes space for Richie on his bed. "Go fuck yourself, dude. And don't call me that," he mumbles, but he's asleep before Richie can respond.

Richie falls asleep to the sound of Eddie's breathing and the knowledge that he could go anywhere at any time and his best friend would follow. It goes the same both ways.

╌╌╌╌╌╌

He doesn't get the same idea until two years later, when his mom hits him for the first time.

Richie gets home at four in the morning. He'd been over at the Kaspbraks' again, and even though Eddie had knocked out at around one, Richie couldn't bring himself to leave the warmth of his best friend's bed. Plus, the only reason Eddie managed to fall asleep was because Richie was there to hold him and tell him it would be okay. What if Eddie had woken up with another panic attack?

So Richie waited until the sky had become a pale gray-blue before leaving. The sun hadn't come up yet, but it did at some point on Richie's route home. It's high in the sky and already on its way down when Maggie Tozier finally finishes screaming at him. She'd been up all night "worried sick."

"Mom, Mom, I'm sorry, okay?" he says for the millionth time.

Richie's mother sits down for the first time in seventeen hours and holds her head in her hands. "Richard, I'm done trying to understand you." Her eyes are red and her words are slurred. Richie can't tell if she's drunk or tired, but knowing his mother, he assumes it's both. "You know what Sonia always tells me. She _talks_, Richie. Don't think I don't know how you're tainting her poor boy." Mrs. Tozier looks up and meets Richie's eyes, and he sees no remorse when she says, "That lifestyle has no place in Derry."

A swallow. A short breath—inhale, exhale. A decision. "So what if I'm gay, Mom? Huh? What if I'm a flaming homo and I'm in love with Eddie? What are you going to do about it?" His vision is so red that he doesn't process his mother standing up and clenching her fist, a bottle clutched in the other. "How are you gonna' stop me from making out with dudes and falling in love and being who I am? It's been, like, forty years since it was normal to be homophobic. I'd rather get AIDS and fucking die than spend another second living a lie in Derry with  _you_!"

And then she hits him. She's drunk—Richie has managed to confirm that for sure—so she's sluggish, and she isn't very strong. It doesn't bruise, but it still stings when her fist collides with his jaw. 

Richie gasps, a hand flying up to hold the place where her wedding ring dug into his skin. "Fuck," he hisses, turning on his heel and sprinting up to his room before his mother can see him cry.

As soon as he slams the door and locks it behind him, his phone rings from the desk. Richie sees _"Spaghetti Man"_ and a bunch of heart emojis light up the screen, so takes a moment to breathe before answering. He grins at the wall to convince himself he's fine. "Eds, what's up?" he says cheerfully.

"_Richie_." His voice is trembling. "_Can you come get me? I...I can't go to yours right now. My bike, it's_..."

Richie's nodding to himself and hurrying around his room on a frenzied hunt to gather his things. He's already formulating a plan. "Yeah, no, of course, Eds. I'll be right over. Are you okay? Are you in danger?"

"_My mom, she...Just come here. Please_," he whimpers, voice cracking on the final word. 

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'll be there in ten. Hang in there, okay?"

Eddie sniffles. "_Thank you_."

"Yeah. Don't worry about it."

Richie already has his backpack stuffed with clothes, toiletries, his Nintendo Switch and some snacks for the road when he realizes there's no way he and Eddie are going to be able to fit on one bike with all of their stuff. 

Before he can even try to come up with a solution, there's a knock at his door. "Rich?" his father's voice timidly calls.

Richie shoves his backpack in the corner and flings the door open. "What."

"Are you..." He trails off, blinking rapidly as his eyes flick around the room, not taking anything in but trying to block something else out. It's something Richie has never noticed before because he does it too, and as he's having this epiphany his father is struggling to formulate a sentence.

"I'm running away," Richie interrupts, resolving to cut his dad some slack.

Mr. Tozier sets his jaw and nods. "Yes, well... I just wanted you to know that your mother...she loves you very much. She just doesn't know how to show it."

Richie swallows down the venom threatening to spill out. "Right. Is that all?"

His father gets all twitchy again. "I want you to know that I don't want you to leave, but I understand why you are. And...And I want you to know that I wouldn't mind if you came back and visited. Even if you brought the Kaspbrak boy. Just...take care of yourself, Richie. And Edward, too."

Richie thinks, for a moment, that maybe he will come back and visit. He almost promises his father that he will. But as Wentworth Tozier holds out the keys to the truck he says he'd been planning on giving Richie for his birthday, he understands that he can't. If he comes back home, his mother will try to make him break down and stay forever. He's not willing to take the chance that it might work.

When his father slips out the door and leaves him alone, he grabs his phone and scrolls through his (short) list of contacts. Richie's heart is beating wildly as he waits for _"Commie (Pavlisomething)"_ to pick up.

Almost immediately, Richie is greeted by a terse, "_What?_" He's shocked for a moment, the heavy accent obvious even in the single syllable.

"It's Richie, your cousin. Kind-of cousin. My mom was your mom's half-sister? She gave me your number a few years ago."

The other line is silent for a moment. "_Richie Tozier? Your mother is the one who used to go out drinking with my father, no? When we lived in Maine?_"

Richie winces. "Yep, that's me."

"_Richie!_" Boris exclaims as if he's reuniting with an old friend. "_Ratibor Tozier with the glasses! Potter, hey, Potter! Come here_." Richie furrows his brow as there is some rustling on Boris's end of the call. "_Potter, this my cousin. He come with glasses just like you!_"

"I don't have time for this," Richie hisses. "You ran away a few years ago, right? I'm running away too. With my best friend. I wanted to know if I could stay with you."

"_Of course you can!_" He can hear the grin in Boris's voice.

Another person—Potter, perhaps—says, "_Hey, wait. Are we gonna' be able to support two more people?_"

"_'We'? I think you mean am_ I _going to be able to. Ha! 'We.'_" Boris seems to direct his attention back to Richie. "_Potter does not help at all. But I am in good business! You can stay here_."

"_Fuck you_," Potter says.

Richie ignores their arguing. "Thank you, Jesus fucking Christ _thank you_. What's the address?" 

"_Listen very carefully_," Boris says, and the accent makes Richie feel like he's in a spy movie or something. "_I will not text you address. FBI has bugged phone. Talking is safer_." He tells Richie the address of his house in Illinois, and Richie scrambles to write it down on some notebook paper he has out on his desk. He has Boris repeat himself at least four times, making sure he has all the details right before thanking him profusely and hanging up.

Richie doesn't even have time to consider the possibility that Eddie might not come with him until he's already skidding to a stop in his new truck outside the Kasbraks' house. He knows that Eddie will, though. Eddie would follow him anywhere.

He hops out and climbs up the trellis to his best friend's window. It's already open before he's even knocked, and Eddie is dragging him inside.

"She fucking...She fucking took my bike and fucked it all up. She got someone to detach the wheels and weld these fucking metal bars in place, and she told me I hang out with you too much, and I just...," Eddie rambles, tears streaming down his face. Richie just holds him and tells him it's okay—that they're getting out of here.

When Eddie has calmed down somewhat, Richie pulls back to look at him. He's crying, but he's just as pretty as he always is. Eddie just has this angelic air about him that always lets Richie breathe a little bit deeper and think a little clearer and see a little straighter (only in the literal sense, of course. Richie can't do anything straight when he's around Eddie).

"We're getting out of here," Richie says firmly. "I'm taking you away."

Eddie's first reaction isn't _"Absolutely not"_ like Richie thought it would be. He just says, "What about the others?"

Richie smiles softly. "I planned on driving past to say goodbye to them. Come on, Eds, you know it's just been you and me for a while. Ben and Bill always just compete for Bev's attention and Mike's always at the farm and Stan...You know I love Stan—he's my best friend in the whole world after you—but he flakes on me all the time, and he's always too busy for me or too tired and hanging out with him is kind of boring because he never wants to do anything. It's been you and me, Eds. What'll be the difference if we run to Illinois?"

Eddie's gaze flicks all over Richie's face as if he's looking for something. "And you're serious about this?"

Richie nods. "Dead serious."

A pause. "Okay. Let's go."

Richie beams and pinches Eddie's cheek. "That's my Eddie-bear. Tally-ho, good sir! Gather thine shit!"

Eddie grimaces and gently shoves Richie away. "Shut up, Trashmouth. Before I change my mind."

Grinning wider, Richie sits down on Eddie's bed and watches him fill his backpack with clothes and useless shit, like his inhaler. _'At least he isn't bringing those dumb pills,'_ Richie thinks. Eddie knows he doesn't have asthma, but Richie is pretty sure the inhaler is just for comfort now.

"So, how long until Momzilla sees the pickup on your street?" Richie asks, glancing out the window.

Eddie spins around, eyes wide. "The _what_?"

Almost as if on cue, they hear a shriek coming from down the stairs: "_Eddie_!"

Richie lets out a loud, brash laugh when the other boy's eyes get even more comically wide. He falls back onto the bed as Eddie runs to the bathroom to grab his toothbrush and soap and all that, still laughing hysterically while Sonia continues to shout for her son. 

Eddie comes flying back into the room and scoops up the several toy cars on his desk, tossing them into his bag and zipping it shut. The boys climb out the window and hop into Richie's truck just as Eddie's mom opens the front door and comes hobbling outside to shout after them.

To say that was an adrenaline rush would be an understatement. 

They stop at Bill's first. Bev is visiting for the summer, so she's also at his house, and she cries and hugs them but doesn't tell them to stay. Bill, on the other hand, asks why they're leaving. He doesn't seem angry, necessarily. Just hurt.

"Bill, you _know_ why they're running," Bev says in a hushed voice, wiping tears away as she squeezes his arm. "This is Derry."

It takes a moment, but then Bill's eyes grow wide. "Oh. _Oh_. Sh-Sh-Shit, S-S-Stan's gonna' f-f-f-flip out."

Eddie gives Richie a confused look, but Richie just shakes his head. He knows what they think is going on, but he can't bring himself to acknowledge it. If he does, Eddie will figure out the truth on his own.

Next, they go to Ben's. He wishes them luck and thanks Eddie for patching him up after Bowers attacked him three years ago and tells Richie that he should like himself more. Richie blushes when Eddie agrees.

Richie takes a deep breath as he pulls into Stan's driveway. This is going to be the hardest goodbye—Stan was his best friend before Eddie and still kind of is, since Richie considers Eddie more of a soulmate than a best friend. Besides, he knows about Richie's crush.

That day had pretty much been the worst day of his life. He'd been traumatized by a massive fucking killer clown, had to watch the love of his life break his arm and get taken away forever, and Stan had caught him on the Kissing Bridge. 

Stan  _caught_ him.

He'd just been informed by Sonia Kaspbrak—a mother to rival Maggie Tozier—that he was never going to see his favorite person in the whole world ever again. Of course, the first thing Richie did was flip his shit in front of all his friends and run away to the Bridge to cry about it. But that was when he found an abandoned pocket knife on the ground and a blank space on the wooden railing, and an idea began to formulate.

Just as he'd been carving the final line of the  _E_, he heard footsteps behind him. At first, he was terrified that it was Bowers. But even worse than that would be the stupid fucking clown, so that became his new anxiety fuel. And then, the awful, gut-wrenching, life-wrecking thought of _'What if it's Eddie?'_ overshadowed all those other fears.

But when he whipped his head around, he just saw Stan. He had breathed a sigh of relief, but then he was instantly terrified once again. Even if it wasn't Eddie or Bowers, it was still  _Stan_. And now Stan _knows_.

"Please don't tell anyone," was the first thing Richie said, voice weak and smaller than he intended.

Stan just stared at the carving for a long moment before slowly dragging his gaze up to Richie's face like it was a chore. "Richie, I know."

Richie had just floundered for a moment before finally getting out, "You know? What do you mean you know?"

"I mean I'm not an idiot, Rich. I  _know_." Stan tilted his head and gave his friend a pitying look. "You don't do a very good job of hiding it. But it's okay—you know that, right? That it's okay?"

And that was when Richie broke down and sobbed into Stan's shirt, believing for the first time in his life that maybe he finally had someone he could talk to about all the shit that's been pounding in his head like a trap song blasting on a turbulent airplane.

Richie hadn't meant what he said earlier about Stan being boring to hang out with. He just wasn't sure how to tell Eddie that he didn't want to bother Stan with his gay panic episodes anymore. Richie felt awful for constantly ranting to Stan about Eddie and how much he wished things were different, but Stan didn't seem to mind too much. He'd roll his eyes and call Richie and idiot and generally be his usual, disappointed, Stanley Uris self, but that's just who he is. Richie is so grateful for Stan.

But now he feels like the guilt might consume him.

So that's why Richie's crying for the first time since they started these goodbyes, and Stan hasn't even opened the door yet. And that's why he flinches away when Eddie reaches out to give him a comforting pat on the arm, and Richie immediately feels worse, but he can't help it.

When Stan pulls the door open and raises his eyebrows at the sorry sight on his doorstep, Richie immediately pulls him into a hug and cries harder than he did that day on the Kissing Bridge. "I love you, man," he mumbles into Stan's neck. "You've done so much for me, you know."

Stan just holds him and rubs soothing circles on his back. "Hey, it's okay, Rich. Calm down. You're okay."

After a few seconds, Richie pulls back and wipes his eyes. "Sorry, I just—" He glances back at Eddie, who's staring at both of them with wide eyes. "We're leaving," Richie says, turning back to Stan but not meeting his eyes.

"What? What do you mean you're leaving?" Stan steps completely outside and closes the door so he can be sure his parents aren't listening. 

Eddie steps forward and places a hand on Richie's shoulder. "Our parents—we just—it's not safe for us here anymore."

Richie finally looks up at Stan, who raises a questioning brow. Richie shakes his head just enough for Stan to see but not for Eddie to notice. Stan has the decency to look disappointed.

"Well, I wish you guys the best of luck. Where are you going?" Stan asks, reaching out to squeeze Richie's arm.

"Illinois." Richie smiles a bit. "It's gonna' be awesome."

Eddie is staring at the hand Stan still has on his best friend's sleeve. "Yeah. We're really gonna' miss you, dude." He glances up to find Stan watching him intently. "Visit sometime, okay?"

Stan's eyes flick back and forth between Richie and Eddie for a moment. "Of course. Keep in touch."

They all have one last group hug before Eddie practically has to drag Richie back to his truck. "Don't make me drive, Trashmouth. You know I don't have my license."

Richie is crying too much to respond.

Upon arriving at Mike's house on the farm, Eddie is beginning to feel the weight of this irrational decision. He's trying not to freak out for the sake of Richie, but all of a sudden he's wondering if the police are going to be looking for them or if everyone is going to think they were murdered by the same people they think took Betty and Georgie and the others. 

As soon as Mike invites them inside for a quick dinner before they officially hit the road, Eddie loses it.

"Rich, what if they all forget about us and Stan never comes to visit? What about Bill? What if Bill finds another Trashmouth with massive glasses and a fanny-pack-wearing asthmatic, a  _real_ one this time? Richie, what if they _re__place _us?"

Mike offers quiet, soothing reassurance that nobody's going to forget them and promises that the Losers will FaceTime them at least once a week as Richie holds Eddie close to his chest.

"I know this is going to be hard, Eddie," Mike says softly, reaching out to pat his friend's knee. "But don't worry, okay? Richie knows what he's doing." He shoots Richie a glare that says  _"I hope you know what you're doing."_

Eddie sniffles and lifts his head. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Sorry. I'm sorry."

Now satiated by the delicious steak dinner Mike prepared, the boys drive across town to the Kissing Bridge. It's the only way to the main road without driving over the train tracks, which Eddie is convinced is bad luck.

On the bright side, the sky is now a gorgeous pink color and Eddie is hanging halfway out the window, whooping and cheering at the cloudless space above. "Fuck this town!" he shouts, flipping off the trees as they fly by at sixty miles per hour. Richie's driving way too fast for a small town like this, but it's not like anyone's out. This is Derry, not New York City.

"Hey, wait, stop here," Eddie says as they approach the Kissing Bridge. Richie's blood immediately goes ice cold.

"Sure thing, cute stuff," he says anyway, slowing as he pulls over to the side of the road near the railing.

Eddie wastes no time before hopping out of the truck and running over to the railing to gaze out at the water flowing toward the Barrens. Richie gets out as well, his heart nearly stopping when he sees that Eddie's hand is gripping the wood right above that damned spot:  _R + E._

He'd like to say that it was a mistake, that he regrets it. But he can't. Because that would, first of all, be a lie, and second of all, it would be like saying he isn't still madly in love with Eddie Kaspbrak. Which is an even bigger lie.

"I don't think I'm gonna' miss this place," Eddie says as Richie comes up and leans against the rail beside him. "Maybe I'll miss Stan and Mike. I'll miss Bill. I'll miss the arcade. But I don't think I'll miss this town." He looks up at Richie. "Derry fucking sucks."

Richie lets out a tiny, relieved laugh. "Just like your mom."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "I can't tell if that's another sex joke about my mother or if you're actually saying she sucks, but yeah. She does." He shifts infinitesimally closer, and if Richie hadn't been hyperfocused on their already-close proximity, he wouldn't have noticed. "Hey, so...Why were you so ready to pack up and leave? Did something happen?"

"Yeah," Richie says. "My mom hit me."

Eddie gasps quietly. "Fuck, Richie."

He nods. "Yeah."

A brief silence. "Uh...Do you mind if I ask why?"

Richie squeezes his eyes shut. "She just wishes I was fucking gone. Two years ago, my cousin ran away to Illinois. He was our age at the time. Just a sixteen-year-old kid skipping town without so much as a goodbye. Mom made sure I knew. I think she wanted to, like, plant the idea in my brain or something."

He feels the softness of Eddie's hand cover his where it rests on the railing. "Shit, Rich. I'm sorry."

Richie opens his eyes and is completely trapped in Eddie's doe-eyed stare. "It's whatever. The only thing that matters is that I'm here with you."

And, well. Shit. Richie can't believe he just said that.

It earns the most beautiful blush from Eddie, though, so Richie can't be too mad at himself. But it does prompt the shorter boy to bashfully glance down at the hand that's not touching Richie's, which happens to lead his gaze straight to...

Richie feels sick.

There's no way Eddie could know, he assures himself. There are plenty of people in Derry with names that start with _R_ and _E_. It could be anyone. Eddie doesn't know. Eddie _can't_ know. He can't, because Richie would probably off himself right then and there.

To Richie's relief, Eddie just laughs. "Look. Somebody knew we'd end up eloping."

Even though Eddie is joking, it still makes Richie's stomach flutter. It isn't butterflies—it's more like dozens of bats angrily swarming and fighting for a way out. He wants to tell Eddie that it was him, that he had been hoping for this opportunity for years, but he doesn't. Instead, he just says, "Hey, why'd the fruit get married in a church? Because they cantaloupe."

It takes Eddie a moment, but then he snorts and steps away from the railing, taking the comfort of his warm hand away from Richie's now-tingling skin. It feels like Eddie branded him and injected heroin into his bloodstream at the same time. "Fuck you," he says with a grin.

"You wish. Come on, Eddie Spaghetti." Richie heads back to the truck as Eddie says not to call him that. He follows Richie anyway because Eddie would follow him anywhere. 

Or, more accurately, Richie will have an awful idea and Eddie will think he's following along, but he's actually leading the way. Richie knows Eddie well enough now to understand that if he has an idea, his best friend has already thought about it and planned the execution and every possible consequence. That's just how they are.

So Richie drives, following the pounding of Eddie's heartbeat. He knows Eddie is leading him; without even being aware of the destination, Eddie is already there—the light at the end of the tunnel. And Richie follows.

╌╌╌╌╌╌

They only make it as far as Portland when Richie announces that he's about to pass out behind the wheel. Eddie rolls his eyes and tells him to find a hotel or something, but...

"Yeah, so. About that," Richie says, "I don't have any money."

"_What_?" Eddie shrieks, and Richie is glad that he's already pulling over into a lot by one of the many lighthouses overlooking the Atlantic.

Richie turns the car off. "Yeah. Um. I didn't really think about it."

If looks could kill, Richie would be eviscerated right now. Eddie's glaring like Richie set the truck on fire, sent it off a cliff and jumped after it. "Oh, great job, Trashmouth. You've really fucked us over now. How on Earth are we going to get a hotel? Do you even know where we're going, dipshit?"

He knows it's just an Eddie thing, but Richie can't help but feel bad about all the insults being thrown at him. "Hey, fuck you. I know exactly where we're going."

"Yeah?" Eddie says, leaning over the center console to look Richie right in the eyes. "Then where are we fucking going, Tozier? Because it's kind of concerning that you haven't told me yet."

"To my cousin's, Eddie," Richie snaps. "Jesus, don't you trust me? We're going to my cousin's fucking house. Now shut the fuck up and get in the back because we're sleeping in the truck."

Eddie stares at him for a good moment. "Fine," he grumbles before climbing into the back seat. "Oh, shit!" Richie twists around to look at Eddie, who is digging a blanket out from underneath the bench. "Didn't you say you just got this truck?" Eddie asks, blinking up at Richie.

"Yeah, it's new. Shitty but new," Richie says, furrowing his brow. "My dad must've put that there."

"Sick."

"Yeah." It's silent for a moment before Richie clambers into the back. "You're fucking lucky this truck seats five or we'd be sleeping outside," he mumbles. Richie stretches out across the cool fabric of the bench seat and watches Eddie move to the floor in a panic.

He blinks at Richie. "So...What now?"

Richie laughs and gently tugs Eddie's arm. "Up here, Eddie Spaghetti. There's only one blanket and it can't cover both of us unless we stay close."

Eddie looks hesitant before eventually moving back up onto the bench, trying and failing to not touch Richie. He wiggles between the backrest and Richie's warm body, draping the blanket over them as he lays down.

To Eddie's utter horror, Richie turns around to face him and slides his arms around Eddie's waist, mumbling something about conserving body heat. Something deep inside Eddie's subconscious starts to panic—something very real and very terrifying. 

"Goodnight, darlin'," Richie says in an awful Southern accent, nuzzling Eddie's cheek with the tip of his nose.

Eddie swallows nervously and shifts a bit. "'night."

Richie smiles and loosens his grip on Eddie a bit. "Hey, relax, Eds. I've got you."

_'Yeah,'_ Eddie thinks_._ _'You've definitely got me.'_

"Okay," he says instead. "Okay. Thank you. Go to sleep."

After no longer than ten minutes, Eddie finds himself relaxing more than he ever has in probably his whole entire life. He falls asleep on the one-hundred-ninety-sixth count of Richie's heartbeat.

╌╌╌╌╌╌

"Alright, Sugarplum, where to now?" Richie is using his dumb southern belle accent again as he dramatically flips the map open with a flourish.

Eddie takes a deep breath, the salty air putting a strange taste in his mouth. "You know there's an app for this, right? Literally just Google the route."

Richie huffs in mock-offense and shifts on the hood of the car to face his best friend, who is still staring out at the ocean in front of them, cross-legged and hunched over. "I am a true navigation extraordinaire. O ye of little faith," he says with a huff.

"O ye of little dick, please stop being an ass and just tell me the address." Eddie pulls out his phone and opens Google Maps.

A horrified gasp escapes Richie's mouth. "How dare thee! I do not have a little dick. I can prove it; the evidence is literally attached to my body."

Eddie wrinkles his nose. "Gross. I don't want to see your wang. Tell me the address, Trashmouth."

Richie twists so he can toss the map through the driver-side window. "Chill, Eds. I know where we're going; I was just fucking around. We're gonna' be on the coast for about another hour until we hit four-ninety-five. I just gotta' get back to the Interstate and then we'll be set."

Eddie sighs and pushes his hair off of his forehead, but the wind sends it flying back into place. Richie thinks it's adorable. "If you say so."

They don't talk as Richie speeds down I-95. It's too loud to hear, anyway—the windows are rolled down and Eddie's entire torso is leaning outside the car. Richie is trying to keep his eyes on the road, but it's a little difficult when he's also sort of terrified that the love of his life might soon be roadkill.

After about an hour, Richie exits onto Interstate 495 and Eddie slips back into his seat (the correct way). "Does this hunk of junk have an AUX?"

"I don't think your mom comes with stereo, Eds," Richie says as he jams the cord into its port.

Eddie glares and grabs the AUX, stabbing it into his phone's headphone jack. "Fuck you, dude."

Richie clicks his tongue. "I don't think Sonia would approve of that, Cutie. Can't cheat on my lady with her son, no matter how tempting he may be."

"Shut up. I'm putting Hippo Campus on. I know you hate them, but I don't care." Eddie goes to his  _"Bops and Jams" _playlist and closes his eyes to the sound of "Violet" playing underneath the noisy wind.

Richie rolls the windows up so he can hear the music better. Contrary to what Eddie may believe, Richie doesn't actually hate Hippo Campus. In fact, he  _really_ likes them—he just also really likes the rage in Eddie's eyes when Richie makes fun of his taste in music.

"_You see with golden eyes_," Jake Luppen sings quietly, and Richie can't breathe. He can't breathe because no matter how hard he tries, he can't fight the urge to take a hand off the wheel and reach across the console. So he doesn't fight it: he gently takes Eddie's hand in his, and Richie's heart is in his throat, and he's suffocating—

Eddie laces their fingers and tightens his grip, and Richie's blood knows oxygen again.

They stop in Chicopee, Massachusetts to eat lunch, and Eddie looks positively adorable across from Richie in the booth of a Burger King dine-in area. Richie makes sure to say so and delights in the way Eddie's cheeks go pink.

To avoid traffic, they take 84 out of Connecticut and drive across Pennsylvania for five hours. Richie wants to detour and stop in Hershey, but Eddie manages to convince him that's a stupid idea.

"You take the fun out of everything, Eds," Richie complains, but he doesn't mean it.

"Your mom," Eddie says with a yawn. He promptly falls back asleep.

Another hour and Richie can't handle the boredom anymore. He starts seeing signs for this beautiful National Park, Cuyahoga Valley, and Richie prays to the god of Ohio that this is going to be fun.

Eddie is still asleep and unable to protest, so Richie follows the signs and eventually finds himself parking the truck in a relatively large lot. "Eds," he whispers, leaning over to gently shake his best friend's shoulder. "Eds, wake up. It's getting late and I wanna' do something fun."

"'m not gonna' let you fuck my mom," a yawn, "if that's what you mean by 'something fun.'" Eddie stretches as he rubs his eyes. "What're we doing?"

Richie grins. "We're gonna' go look at some fuckin' trees."

As it turns out, Cuyahoga Valley is much more interesting than Richie thought it would be. He expected hiking trails and scenic views to be fucking boring, but now that he has the mental image of Eddie Kaspbrak standing in front of a gorgeous waterfall etched into the back of his eyelids for all of eternity, he is forever grateful. The Ohio gods really pulled through.

The night sky hangs over the pair as they stare at yet another breathtaking view: they're on a bridge overlooking the stream that cuts through brilliant orange and green cliffs. It reminds Richie of the Quarry, almost.

"This is like if the Quarry was thinner and prettier and not full of radioactive waste," Eddie says, and Richie can't help but laugh.

Richie smiles and bumps Eddie's shoulder with his own. "Right you are, Edwardo. Right you are."

"Still not my name," Eddie mutters, but he's mostly looking out at the reflection of the moon where it hangs in the water. "Is your cousin nice?" he asks, turning to look up at Richie. 

"I dunno'. Met him years ago. He seemed nice on the phone, though."

Eddie smacks his shoulder. "Dude! You don't  _remember_ him? What if he's a psycho murderer?"

Richie laughs and shakes his head. "We know how to deal with those, Eds. At least, I hope we do."

That earns him an eye-roll. "I'm just saying. What if he tries to kill us?"

"He's, like, eighteen, dude. He's just looking to get stoned and laid like the rest of us."

Eddie wrinkles his nose. "Ew. Gross."

Richie raises an eyebrow and bumps Eddie's hip. "You don't want to get laid?"

"Only look for what you can find, Tozier," Eddie says mysteriously, patting his friend's shoulder before heading back the direction they came.

╌╌╌╌╌╌

Richie figures it won't hurt anyone if he doesn't pay for eight-hour parking; he's happy that everything seems to be on an honor system around here. So he and Eddie settle down in the back of the truck again, both of them much less panicked than the previous night. 

The next day is twelve hours across what Richie is positive must be the same stretch of Midwestern fields over and over and over again. Pretty soon they're in Illinois and Richie can't remember ever leaving Ohio. It's all the same out here.

It should have only taken six hours to get from Cuyahoga Valley to the Chicago area, but they had to keep stopping for snacks and Richie complained about being tired so much that Eddie made him pull over and nap for god knows how long.

As they have been for half the morning, Richie and Eddie are bickering: "It's not my fault you decided to stop for gas in the shadiest neighborhood possible." 

"Yeah, but you're the one that made me go in and get you a bottle of cherry Cola. I wouldn't smell like weed if you had just gotten over yourself."

"But then  _I'd_ smell like weed!"

"And you'd stop complaining about  _me_ smelling like weed!"

"Fuck you."

"Your mom."

"I hate you."

"Love you too, Sweetums."

Eddie has to put the address into his phone once they get off the highway. It takes them into a nice little town—_"Welcome to Venry! Population 16,000"_—that reminds Richie so much of Derry that even the name triggers his (quite possibly accurate self-diagnosis of) PTSD.

"God, this place sucks," Richie mutters. "I've seen at least four Starbucks between all the Subways."

Eddie laughs, and Richie smiles to himself. "Yeah, well, I'd rather be here than home."

The truth of the statement hits both of them so hard that neither one speaks as Richie pulls into a subdivision just across the street from a mattress store and another Subway. The house that Google Maps leads them to is so mundane—single-story, small porch, brick walls and a brown, shingled roof—that Richie can't imagine that someone who says things like  "_FBI has bugged phone_" lives here.

Then he sees the communist flag waving above the minimalistic landscaping along the front of the house, and Richie knows they're in the right place.

He parks the truck in the driveway, figuring they won't be leaving for a while, and reaches over to rest a hand on Eddie's arm. "Hey, look at me," Richie says when his friend tenses.

To his relief, Eddie complies. His eyes are wide, and he's already reaching for his inhaler. "Rich—"

"Eds, it's okay. Just breathe, alright? We're going to be fine. This is gonna' be fun, alright? No adults around to tell us what to do. This is going to be great."

Eddie closes his eyes and nods. "You're right. You're right; I'm fine. Okay."

Richie gets out and they grab their backpacks, as well as the blanket. He leads the way up the sidewalk, Eddie trailing closely behind. But Richie freezes as they stand in front of the blindingly white door. He can't believe that they're actually here now—that he and Eddie have seriously run away from home. There's no going back. They have nothing. No one but each other, and possibly Richie's weird Ukrainian cousin.

Then, he feels the warmth of Eddie's hand slipping into his, and everything is okay. With a breath, Richie rings the doorbell.

Not even three seconds go by before the door is flung open and they're met with the sight of not one, but two boys. And one of them is holding a dog.

"Boris?" Richie says nervously, and Eddie feels like he's staring at a mirrored image or something. By the looks of it, the other three boys are thinking the same thing.

The tall one, Eddie assumes, must be Richie's cousin. They would be almost identical if not for their clearly polar opposite senses of style. 

He takes in Boris as a whole at first, just the dark, hollow mass of someone who was once malnourished and is only just recently managing to climb out of that early grave. But then Eddie picks apart everything about him, differentiating between wild black curls and Richie's rather tame (for once) brown hair, his unbuttoned red Hawaiian-print shirt and the snowboarding tee that Boris is wearing. Eddie can't help but wonder where he got it, out in the middle of the Midwest. 

"Theo," the one holding the dog says, reaching out with his free hand. 

Eddie politely shakes it. "Eddie. And this is Richie."

"Go away," Boris suddenly says to Theo. "I want to talk to my cousin alone."

Theo adjusts his glasses and looks at Eddie, wordlessly beckoning him into the house. Boris steps out of the way to let them inside as Eddie tosses his backpack and the blanket on the floor. Boris keeps looking at Richie as if sizing him up.

"You want drink?" he asks in his insane, fake-sounding accent.

Richie shakes his head. "I need to ask you a favor."

Boris gives him a long, cool stare. Richie worries for a moment that he's going to be turned away, that he left Eddie in there all by himself and he's going to be murdered or drugged or something. But then Boris's mouth breaks into a wide grin and he lets out a loud, single syllable of laughter. "Of course, cousin! Come in."

The kitchenette is more homey than the house looks from the outside. It's bathed in this warm, yellow-orange glow, and Richie suddenly understands why someone would want to live here. It's in the middle of the fucking suburbs, which Richie has had his fair share of, but something about this little house in Venry, Illinois is more like a home than anything Richie's ever seen. It isn't suffocating like the Kaspbraks' or empty like his own house or a complete mystery like Bev's apartment or drenched with loss like Bill's ever since It got Georgie. This is a place of comfort. Richie has only been here for forty seconds.

"Wodka?" Boris calls over his shoulder as he rummages through a cabinet. Richie desperately wants to say yes, wants to forget his anxieties, but he looks over to where Eddie is sitting beside Theo at the kitchen counter and meets his best friend's gaze. Eddie would never forgive him. They both know too many alcoholic parents to take a risk like this. 

Richie manages to snap his focus back to Boris, sliding his backpack off his shoulders and onto the counter. "No, thank you."

His cousin grabs a rectangular bottle and waves Richie outside. "Suit yourself, man." It sounds unnatural—such an American phrase in an accent that matches pretty much no culture on the planet.

There isn't enough space for a patio in the backyard, but there are steps from the back door leading to the ground. Boris's long, spindly legs seem to stretch on for miles, and Richie wonders if he'll ever have a growth spurt like that. 

"So, what is this favor you come to me for?" Boris asks between gulps of his drink. 

Richie glances over his shoulder and through the window at the kitchen counter. Eddie is swinging his legs nervously as he and Theo chat about god knows what. He doesn't want to be rude and invite himself and another person to stay here forever, but...

"Hey," Boris says, snapping his fingers in front of Richie's face. "You can take the tiny one, but Potter is mine."

Richie whips back around to stare at Boris. "What?" 

Boris nods in the direction of the kitchen. "I see way you look at him. Like precious thing to you, no?"

He's only known Richie for two minutes, and he's already managed to figure out his greatest secret. Wonderful. "I mean, that doesn't—I just—"

"Relax, Ratibor. I'm same way with Potter." Boris grins. "I think he feel same way about me sometimes. We get really high and sleep together and he says things...Like you and small one, yes?"

Richie feels like he might pass out. "No! We—What? _No_!"

Boris stares at Richie, eyes going narrow and then wide again. He takes a swig of his vodka, which Richie has managed to riddle out. ("Wodka." Fucking communists.)

His cousin swallows with a bit of a wince, makes a whole show of it with his cheeks puffed out and a dramatic "ah" when the drink goes down. "You two have never slept together?"

Richie blanches. He can practically feel all the color drain from his face, and the sweat is suddenly very cold as it accumulates on the palms of his hands. "Dude, what?"

Boris tips his head side to side, gesturing vaguely. "You know. You've never had sex?"

Shaking his head, Richie starts frantically waving his hands to signal  _"no, we have never ever ever done anything of the sort,"_ and  "_Eddie and I aren't like that,"_ and  _"fuck fuck fuck shit fuck what the fuck?"_

"Just..._what_? No! That's not at all how we are. We're...We're just..."

"Friends?" Boris asks with a skeptical raise of his eyebrows. "Don't give me the bullshit, Ratibor."

Richie glares and crosses his arms defensively. It's a gesture he picked up from Eddie. "It's not bullshit! And...what the fuck kind of name is that?"

Boris smiles devilishly. "Meaning fighter. Act on impulse. Stupidly." There's a pause, long enough for Richie to open his mouth to protest, but Boris doesn't let him. "So. Favor?"

There's nothing in this world that could have made Richie happier in that moment than a change of subject. "Yeah. Yes, um. Yeah. Would we, possibly, be able to stay here for longer than, like...a few days? Like...possibly forever?"

He takes a long drink from the bottle, closing his eyes as he seems to contemplate Richie's request. "Seems like big favor, Ratibor. But I can make it work."

Richie beams and flings his arms around his cousin, squeezing so tightly that he's pretty sure Boris is unable to breathe. "Thank you! Thank you so much, dude. I love you to death." He throws the door open and sprints over to the little kitchenette, grabbing Eddie by the shoulders and shaking him. "Boris says we can stay forever."

"_What_?" Theo stands and glares at Richie. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." He stalks off to the backyard, taking the dog (Popper, Eddie has learned) with him and slamming the door as he presumably goes to shout at Boris.

Eddie just stares up at Richie. "Forever?" he says breathlessly.

Richie's still grinning. "Forever."

Eddie squeals and wraps his arms around his best friend's waist. "Thank fuck. Jesus, Rich, I'm so happy you know what you're doing."

The thing is, Richie most certainly has no idea what he's doing. He just happens to be the luckiest person on Earth. "Me too, Eds," he mumbles into Eddie's hair.

Theo stomps through the back door and into the kitchen once again. Richie lets go of Eddie to face him, and Theo jabs an accusatory finger into Richie's chest. "Fine. You can stay. Boris is way too nice to tell you this, but you're gonna' have to get a job and pull your weight around here. I'm not letting you put him in even more danger just so he can support two charity cases."

It occurs to Richie that it never crossed his mind to ask how they pay for all of this—the house, the bills, the food—but he figures now is not the time. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, of course."

Theo sets the dog on the floor. "Despite the fact that I am very against all of this, you two live here now. So make yourselves at home, I guess. I'm gonna' go outside."

Richie nods and adjusts his glasses. "Right. Thanks." He sits down next to Eddie and takes in the sight of the tiny yellow kitchenette. Everything is yellow at night in the suburbs. Artificial light does that to a place.

They hear the back door close, and Eddie's speaking immediately. "I'm scared, Rich."

Richie frowns and pats Eddie's arm. It's an aggressively friendly gesture, like calling someone "buddy" or play-fighting as an excuse to touch each other. "What's wrong, Spaghetti Man?"

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Don't call me that. And I'm scared because Boris literally looks  _exactly_ like you. It's kind of insane, actually."

"Edwin!" Richie gasps, mock-horror written all over his face. "How dare you say such a thing! I'm not nearly as crusty as him."

"That's not my name, douchebag," Eddie says with a glare. "And I'm just saying! He's like if you were finished going through puberty. Aren't you guys only, like, six percent related?"

Richie shrugs. "I dunno'. I guess genetics aren't as unique as we thought."

Eddie hums and taps the table with his fingernails. "Boris is kinda' hot, though."

Both of them fall silent. Richie tries not to stare, but he can't help it when Eddie's cheeks turn that shade of pink. "Dude, what?"

"I don't know. Forget it."

Richie grins brightly and gives his friend a playful shove. "Eds! How can you think my  _cousin_ is hot?"

Eddie's face is a brilliant scarlet red. "He's hot in, like, a mysterious and edgy kind of way! I don't know!"

Laughing loudly, Richie ruffles his best friend's hair. "Aw, my Eds has a little crush. That's adorable." He tries to ignore the jealousy building.

"I do not! That's..." Eddie trails off, shutting his mouth tightly.

Richie's laughter dies out. "That's...That's what, Eds?" he asks, voice suddenly small.

"I'm not—Rich, you know I'm not, like..."

Richie's eyes are wide behind his glasses. "No, I wasn't—You know it's, like...It's okay, I mean, if you  _are_—"

Suddenly, the back door flies open and the telltale odor of weed floats into the small house. Both boys flinch and turn to see Boris shoving Theo up against the wall, the door swinging shut beside them. At first, Richie thinks they're fighting, but then he sees their mouths are smashed together in a hasty, messy excuse for a kiss.

Boris's hands are all over Theo, grabbing at the hem of his shirt and tugging upwards, and Richie glances over to see that Eddie is somewhere between shocked and horrified. "Uh...," Richie says, turning back to the scene unfolding in front of them.

Theo's head snaps over towards the kitchenette, where Richie and Eddie are frozen in place. He shoves Boris away and blushes furiously, not looking at anyone as he stomps off to what Richie assumes is the only bedroom in the house.

Boris looks thoroughly embarrassed, and rightfully so. Even with his limited knowledge, Richie knows they weren't outside long enough for this to be excused by being too high for inhibition, no matter what they were smoking.

"What the hell was that?" he says.

Boris looks frightened. "I—Potter and I, we..."

Eddie grips Richie's arm as if he's trying to stay upright. "Uh..?"

"Is nothing. He's high. I—"

"No shit, he's high. You guys smell awful," Richie interrupts. "I'm tired."

Boris swallows and runs a hand through his hair as he attempts to compose himself. "Yes, well. Yes. You can stay in our room with us, if you want. Is a mess, but is home." He crosses the living room to stand in the archway beside the television, a hand on the wall. "Only twin bed, though."

Eddie's eyes go wide. "Are you guys just not gonna' shower? Do you know how unhygienic that is?"

Boris shrugs. "Is too expensive," he says, yawning. "Once a week, together. Besides, he is mad at me now. I have to talk to him."

Richie nods and tries not to question it. Eddie, on the other hand... "_Together_?" he practically shrieks, and Richie claps a palm over Eddie's mouth. 

"Dude, your room seriously reeks," he says, ignoring Eddie's glare. "It smells like weed and cigarettes and sweat, even from out here. Plus, you and Theo have to sort out your shit. Spaghetti and I are just gonna' take the couch."

Boris nods and wordlessly steps into the hallway behind the TV wall. Richie just drags Eddie back to the kitchenette and finally removes his hand. "Holy fuck!" Eddie whisper-yells. "_Fuck_!"

Richie's immediately on the defensive. He has no idea what to expect, but he's not emotionally ready to hear Eddie say something about how disgusting it is for two guys to be together or anything like that. It would break Richie. Shatter his heart and slice him into bits from the inside out.

But Eddie just says, "Once a week, Richie.  _Once a fucking week_. That's disgusting. Not to mention they're in there at the same time! They could get plantar warts or, like, STDs!"

Richie is so relieved that he just starts laughing. Eddie glares and throws punches and insults and Richie just keeps laughing. "Eds, Eds, calm down," he manages between breaths. "You probably brought shower shoes or something. You'll be fine."

Another weak punch to Richie's arm. "Shut up, Trashmouth," Eddie mumbles.

"So I'm right, then?"

"Shut up!"

Richie just smiles stupidly and all he can think about is how grateful he is for his best friend.

Something Richie deeply appreciates about Eddie is that he's never once said "Beep beep, Richie," like all the other Losers have. Richie knows that he goes too far sometimes and he's grateful that his friends are comfortable enough to let him know when to shut up, but it still makes him feel bad. He never wants to offend anyone or hurt his friends. It's good to know that Eddie never really wants him to stop talking. "Shut up" never means "stop talking."

"Go get ready, Eds. We're sleeping on the couch." Richie pinches his friend's cheek and goes to grab their backpacks. "Make sure to use as little water as possible. I'm pretty sure Theo will have our heads if we waste even a nickel."

Eddie rolls his eyes and follows Richie into the bathroom. "I think he's just worried about Boris. Do you think he's, like, a hitman or something?"

Richie laughs and digs out his toothbrush as Eddie does the same. "I dunno'. I'd put my money on suburban Mob boss."

They get ready together for the most part—Richie makes faces at Eddie in the mirror, earning at least half a dozen eye-rolls—until Richie gets kicked out so Eddie can take a piss. In the meantime, Richie sets up camp on the couch. He grabs the blanket from the front of the house and lays it out across the cushions, snuggling up underneath it.

When Eddie has finished washing his hands for the sixth time—Richie knows better than to question it; Eddie just needs to do things sometimes—he comes back out to the living room. "Am I taking the floor?"

Richie is confused at first. "Taking the...What? Eds, no." He lifts the blanket. "C'mere."

He watches the blush spread across Eddie's face. "Oh."

"It's no different from sleeping together in a truck, dude." Richie shifts over to allow some space for his friend, accommodating as Eddie lays down and gets comfortable. Almost automatically, he slides an arm underneath Eddie and around his waist. Richie can't tell if it's more of a protective gesture or a comforting one.

A loud moan, probably one they weren't meant to hear, comes from the bedroom.

Richie just laughs as Eddie blushes again and buries his face in the taller boy's chest.

"So, um, do you think they're..?" Eddie starts, but he trails off.

Richie laughs quietly and squeezes Eddie's waist. "Hopelessly in love? Absolutely."


	2. "only take what you can hide"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to add a chapter because I ended up making the second part waaaay longer than intended, so I split it up into two chapters. I might end up having to do that again for the final one—oops.
> 
> This was supposed to have more drama but as of now this is the Shenanigans Chapter. Enjoy!
> 
> boreo playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/slrandomperson/playlist/4Ucy8Ax2AAInDAh2DAHWnE?si=rgV7mgJvTNqpFHa5pZ-_xg
> 
> You might find my Reddie one too but there are so many out there that I figured plugging it is pointless.

Theo wakes up at his usual time around five-thirty. He's still wrapped up in Boris's arms: legs tangled together; long, clumsy fingers threaded in dirty blonde hair; face pressed into a pale neck. Theo stays like that for half an hour until the time Boris thinks he wakes up: the point at which he untangles his body from Theo's, rolls away, and goes back to sleep.

Just another one of their intricate rituals.

On Theo's to-do list today is to head to the store and pick up some pizzas for dinner, since he hadn't planned on having to feed four. He tries to be mad at Boris for spontaneously inviting two people to stay with them for the rest of their lives, but he can't. Theo has never really been good at staying mad at Boris for anything—except for abandoning Theo for days on end to hang out with his girlfriend (he almost always came back at night, but that's besides the point).

Another item on the list is to clean up the kitchen. As part of a new rule, Theo has a rotating cycle of one room he cleans every week. He and Boris really let their hygiene go to shit when they were living in Vegas, so Theo has done the responsible thing and taken on some around-the-house duties.

Theo finds that they're running low on countertop cleaner, and it's become so distilled from Boris's "life-and-money-saving hack" (pouring water into the half-empty bottle) that it's past the point of no return. He'll have to go to the store first thing this morning.

Once he steps into the living room, though, he's reminded of their little problem: two boys deliberately entangled on the couch so just enough of them is touching, but not too much. Theo shakes his head, sighing to himself. It's almost painful to stand by and watch them circle each other, and Theo has known them for less than twelve hours. But nobody falls asleep like that, in such a seemingly uncomfortable position, without _something_ being there.

Except he and Boris, but they're a special case.

Theo shakes the thought from his mind as Popper starts yipping away, running out of the bedroom and into the front where his food bowl is. Following diligently, Theo happily pours a healthy serving of Popper's favorite brand of food into the bowl. "Hush, Popchik," he whispers. 

It's mornings like these when Theo regrets running away just a little bit. He misses the carefree Vegas days where he and Boris didn't have to pay for a house and warm, clean water, and when they saw each other all day and slept in the same bed all night and when there was nothing that could ever come between them—besides distractions like Kotku. But now, sometimes, he and Boris will argue about finances and how they never have time for each other and Theo will wish that things could go back to how they were.

Then, sometimes, just when he's on the brink of giving up—of grabbing Boris and flying them back to Vegas—he'll come home from his errands to a warm meal and Boris smiling sheepishly from the kitchen, an apology on his lips that Theo will kiss away much later in the night when they're both too high to think twice.

It's days like those that remind Theo that no matter how much they argue, he wouldn't trade his time with Boris for anything in the world.

In the kitchen, Theo puts Popper's food back in its cupboard. A noise between a yawn and a groan sounds from the couch behind him, so he grabs the nearest backpack and heads to the living room.

"Oh good; you're up," he says to Richie, who is groggily blinking up at him. "You're coming to the store with me. Is this your bag?"

Richie just looks thoroughly disoriented. "Yeah," he says in his sleepy haze.

"Good." Theo flings the backpack at him, and Richie immediately throws an arm out to shield Eddie.

"Dude!" he hisses. "Eddie's still sleeping." As if to illustrate this point, Eddie mumbles a bit and shifts so he's clinging tighter to Richie's lanky torso.

Theo rolls his eyes. "Then detach yourself and get up." He goes back to the kitchen to grab a wad of one-dollar bills (six of them—it's not like he's going to buy much) from the cookie jar.

Within ten minutes, Richie is stumbling out of the bathroom in the same clothes he was wearing yesterday. "Can you, like, update me on the rules around here? All I know is don't use water and avoid discussion of any makeouts that may or may not occur."

Theo glares at him and stomps off to the foyer, grabbing Boris's largest coat from the rack. It may be summer, but you can only take what you can hide.

"You can use water," he says, not acknowledging the makeout comment. "Just not in excess. You can brush your teeth and all that. You did brush your teeth, didn't you?" he asks, stopping with his hand on the doorknob.

"Uh"—Theo narrows his eyes at Richie—"yes?"

With a sigh, he pulls the door open and Richie follows him outside. "It's fine. Boris doesn't either. At least, not as much as he should."

There's a metallic jingle behind him. "I've got the pickup." Theo turns around to see Richie holding up the keys to his truck. "Do you usually walk?"

Theo shoots a worried glance over at the shitty, beat-up, rusty Ford in his driveway. "I'd rather not have our mode of transportation in scraps by the time we get there."

Richie is already on his way to the driver-side door. "I insist," he calls over the roof of the truck. "Plus, it's new. Very used and very old, but it's new to _me_."

That doesn't make Theo feel better at all, but he gets in the passenger side because he has no choice. Richie blasts Muse the whole way there, so Theo doesn't have to speak except for the few times he shouts directions over the music. He is grateful.

Walmart is, unsurprisingly, pretty empty on a Monday morning.

"Why is it so..._white_ in here?" Richie complains, squinting and shielding his eyes from the fluorescent lights.

Theo snorts. "White town, white people, white Walmarts." He leads the way to the cleaning supply aisle and grabs a bottle of multipurpose surface cleaner.

Richie snorts. "Sounds about right. Hey, are you buying _multipurpose_? Dude, Eddie would flip his shit."

"There's nothing wrong with saving money, Richie. Tell your obsessive-compulsive boyfriend too," Theo says as he heads off on a hunt for the freezer aisle.

This leaves Richie spluttering as he follows. "That's not—We aren't—He doesn't—Okay, first of all, he doesn't have OCD. Probably. He's just very germophobic and a total hypochondriac. And secondly, he's not my boyfriend."

Theo shoots a skeptical look over his shoulder as he stops in front of a freezer. "He checked to make sure his inhaler was still in that stupid fanny pack, like, twelve times just while you and Boris were talking last night."

Richie rolls his eyes as Theo grabs four frozen cheese pizzas. "That's just Eddie. Plus, he doesn't even need the inhaler. It's just for comfort, I think."

"Further proof that he's obsessive-compulsive. Does he check locks often?"

"I mean, yeah, but he's just paranoid. We had some fucking weird shit happen to us. Traumatic shit. I'd be damned if I didn't check the locks a billion times a night."

"Traumatic?" Theo prods, using his foot to hold the freezer open as he stands there with his stack of pizzas.

Richie shrugs and tugs at the hem of his white t-shirt. The details are a bit fuzzy, but he remembers the gist of it. Big fucking scary clown. The Neibolt house. All of his friends down in the sewers.

There is one vivid memory he still clings to, however: Eddie's face between his hands, tear-filled eyes that just wouldn't fucking look at him. For a moment, Richie forgot that It was even there at all. But that was still only for a moment. Then It's face was all Richie could see.

He shakes his head. "Psycho serial killer shit. I fucking hate our hometown."

Theo just hums and slides the pizzas under his puffy coat. "Was he like that before, though? Before the trauma?"

Richie is taken back to hazy nights spent climbing through Eddie's window: his warm bed, Eddie's ever-present offer to act as Richie's tether to the planet via cuddles, the way Richie would be inches from sleep when Eddie would jolt out of his grip so he could make a round of the room, checking if the window and his bedroom door were locked; how he'd mutter apologies as he'd climb back into bed and Richie would wipe the tears from his best friend's cheeks and promise him it would be okay. He remembers how Eddie would give him the saddest smile, and how the fears that Sonia would be the one to open his possibly unlocked door eventually transformed into paranoia that It would come back twenty-six-and-a-half years too early.

He sucks in a breath. "Hey, I have no clothes."

If Theo notices Richie's obvious effort to change the subject, he doesn't say so. Instead, he just sighs. "Okay. There's a thrifty section in the back, kind of. Clearance shelves with clothes and all. Pick stuff out and shove it anywhere you can hide it. I'll take some."

Richie nods. "Okay. Thanks."

There are piles of clothes haphazardly flung across tables as if the employees haven't bothered to clean up since the previous day's frenzied shopping. He comes across a few graphic tees and some tight-fitting shorts that would never work on him—all of which remind him of Eddie—but otherwise finds nothing noteworthy.

Until he sees, across one of the large, square tables, a shirt that is potentially Very Richie Tozier. He sprints over to the other side of the thrift section so fast that he skids into girl (who had been inspecting a pair of black leggings) and collides with something metal as he stutters out an apology, stumbling along to the beige button-up practically calling his name.

Richie has never really been one for anything but casual dress: he wears stupid, comfy t-shirts and sleeps in them too. He wouldn't exactly dish out fashion advice, given the opportunity—which is why he knows that he needs to get this shirt. It's exactly the kind of thing people wouldn't expect from him: beige with black Hawaiian print, but not too much. Not as loud as his usual choices.

"What size is that?"

He flinches and whips around to see Theo turning over a block of cheese and squinting to read the nutrition label.

"What's what?"

Theo glances up and rolls his eyes. "What size is it? The shirt?" He gestures to the clothing that Richie is clutching in a tight fist, still tense from being frightened. "Is it going to fit?"

Richie checks the tag and nods. "It should, I think." He slings his backpack off his shoulder and looks around to make sure no one is paying attention to them before stuffing the shirt in between his various snacks tucked in the pockets.

"Ready to go?" Theo drops the cheese in the basket he's holding, along with two packs of spearmint gum. He then stares at the cheese for a solid few seconds before taking it out and shoving it in Richie's backpack.

Richie frowns and glances around. "I mean, I could use a few more things..."

Theo gives him a half-smile. "Take what you need, Tozier."

╌╌╌╌╌╌

The quick trip to Walmart turned into a four hour escapade to various thrift hotspots Theo knew of in the area. They managed to escape the Walmart with all their groceries—they had triggered the sensors at the door, but Theo pretended to realize he'd forgotten to put back some sunglasses as Richie waited by the door (past the sensors) with his backpack full of unpaid-for food—and by the time they'd finished "shopping" for more clothes, it was past lunchtime.

Theo unlocks the door and goes into the dining room, taking his coat off and hanging it on the wall rack. Richie hasn't had the pleasure of being in this room before, so he takes in as much as he can: the glass table casting rainbows onto the floor, the leafy centerpiece, the broken blinds mostly covering the window on the front of the house (part of it dangles, two of the slats having been bent in such a way that an open space is allowing sunlight to leak through).

"Groceries in the kitchen," Theo says shortly, running a hand through his hair and blinking the tiredness out of his eyes. He usually naps for an hour or two after his errands, but they'd spent so long in town this morning that he has no time before he is supposed to be preparing lunch.

Richie nods and heads to the kitchenette, where he sees none other than Eddie Kaspbrak standing in front of a pot on the stove. He's stirring with a plastic spoon and nodding his head as Boris sings along to whatever's blasting on the stereo, and it takes Richie a moment to realize that Eddie's singing too, and he's _grinning_, and he's singing with _Boris_.

"Sooner or later, the fever ends!" Eddie wails, taking the spoon out of the water to hold it like a microphone. "And I wind up feeling down," he continues as Boris leans closer and Eddie holds the spoon between them.

"I need a man who'll take a chance on a love that burns hot enough to last!" they borderline shout, the laughter evident in their smiles and the shake of their shoulders. "So when the night falls, my lonely heart calls!"

Eddie spins away dramatically, eyes closed as he poses in front of the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. "Oh, I wanna' dance with somebody! I wanna' feel the heat with somebody!"

"Yeah, I wanna' dance with somebody," he and Boris sing as the latter extends a hand to Eddie. He takes it and allows Boris to twirl him, and it's the prettiest fucking thing Richie has ever seen. "With somebody who loves me!"

Richie is growing exceedingly uncomfortable with the anvil sinking to the bottom of his stomach, so he knocks on the wall twice and says, in his most obnoxious British accent, "Am I interrupting something, my good fellows?"

Eddie, in typical Edward Kaspbrak fashion, shrieks and drops the spoon. "Holy—fuck, Richie, you scared the living shit out of me!" he hisses as Boris picks the spoon up and hurries to stick it back in the boiling water, muttering something about five-second rules.

"What are you guys doing?" Richie asks, narrowing his eyes at Boris, who has taken to stirring the pot again.

"Making soup," Boris says without turning around. "As special treat for friends, yes? Eddie's idea."

Eddie's cheeks are dusted a faint shade of pink when Richie looks over at him. "Boris won some money on this online poker game, so I just thought we could do something nice for you guys." He glances up at the archway where Theo is now standing. "There's soup. Chicken noodle."

Richie plops himself down at the counter, fixating a tight smile on Eddie. "You two seem to be having fun."

"I mean, we _were_...," Eddie says, but then he grins at Richie and leans his elbows on the counter across from his friend. "How was shopping?"

"Oh, it was awesome," Richie says with what he had intended to be sarcasm but ends up coming across as sincerity (because, in essence, shopping with Theo _was_ kind of awesome). "The Wiz and I got me some new threads," he says in his classic skater-boy voice.

Theo slides onto the stool next to Richie. "'The Wiz'?" He folds his arms.

Richie cackles like he's come up with the most clever nickname on Earth. "Yeah. Like how Boris calls you Potter, and he's a wizard, and in The Wizard Of Oz it's just a cranky dude behind a curtain? That's you."

That earns him a punch to the arm. "Fuck you," Theo says, but Eddie sees the hint of a smile on the corners of his mouth.

"So," he says because he doesn't feel like watching Richie banter with someone else right now, "when do we get to see these new clothes?"

Richie's eyes sparkle. "Right now."

"After soup," Theo corrects.

With a sigh, Richie gives in: "After soup."

They eat in the dining room, which Boris says they haven't done in a long time. Eddie spends the whole luncheon exchanging stories about his best friend with ones about Theo from Boris. Richie will occasionally let his focus wander to Theo (whose annoyed expressions are hilarious), but every time his attention isn't on Eddie, he receives a good kick underneath the table from the boy himself.

As soon as they've all finished their soup, Eddie demands to see Richie's new clothes. As the self-designated fashionista of the Losers Club—hello, he wears a fanny pack; of course he knows about fashion—Eddie has made it his mission to keep tabs on his friends' (mainly Richie's—that kid is a hopeless cause) clothing choices.

"Show me your best getup, Tozier," Eddie requests, shoving Richie's backpack into his arms and nudging him in the direction of the hallway behind the wall the TV is set up against.

Richie sends a wink over his shoulder. "You sure you don't wanna' come watch me undress, Eddie my love?"

Eddie fakes a gag and shoves Richie into Theo and Boris's room. "Shut up, Trashmouth. Get dressed." He closes the door and goes back out to the living room to flop down on the couch and wait.

There are a good few minutes that Richie spends just deciding on an outfit. He wants to impress Eddie, sure, but he also wants to save some things for another time as a sort of surprise. He eventually settles on an outfit, against all odds.

Richie adjusts his glasses and doesn't meet Eddie's eyes as he steps out from the hallway. "Whaddya' think, Eds?" he says with what is supposed to be a confident grin. It's anything but.

He has a hand stuffed in the pocket of his cargo shorts, the other still fiddling with those fucking glasses, and Eddie just wants to get up and slap them off the bridge of Richie's nose. But then, maybe, Eddie just might do something stupid like kiss the nervous smile off his best friend's face. He can't risk that possibility.

But it's there—that awful feeling begging Eddie to get off the couch and just be close to Richie—because he is wearing what just might be the only piece of clothing he owns that isn't so casual it may as well be pajamas.

Richie Tozier is standing in the middle of the living room wearing a beige button-up and gray cargo shorts. The shirt is covered in a black, leafy Hawaiian print and is paired with a bowtie (which Eddie assumes was Theo's choice) of the same color.

When his breath returns, Eddie says the first thing he can think of: "Wow." It's not the scathing insult he'd been hoping for, and it comes out breathier than he intended, but Eddie can't bring himself to be a bitch right now.

The classic shit-eating grin is back on Richie's face. "Come on, Eds, you'll catch flies like that."

Eddie snaps his mouth shut—he hadn't even realized it was hanging open—and he just knows he's blushing an embarrassing shade of scarlet to rival his inhaler (the first red one he had, way back before his mother determined he needed the blue one), which he thinks he may need right about now. "The only reason there are any flies in this house is because they follow you everywhere, Trashmouth."

"And he's back," Richie says without dropping his smile, but now there's a shine in his eyes that Eddie absolutely despises.

There's a low whistle from the foyer, and Eddie twists to see Boris and Theo watching from the kitchen. "You look good, Ratibor. Potter tells me you took this from the Walmart, yes?"

Richie gestures proudly to himself. "Yep. They've got some dope shirts in the thrifty section. Saved, like, six bucks by stuffing this in my backpack."

Eddie gapes and gets to his feet. "You _stole_ that?"

"I didn't steal, Eds. I took. Capitalism sucks. Blah blah blah." Richie waves his hand dismissively.

"You can't just take things." Eddie folds his arms. "That's wrong."

Richie raises his eyebrows. "Oh yeah? You didn't seem to have a problem with it when Bev helped us get all that shit from the pharmacy."

"That was different! Ben was fucking dying!"

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

"Both of you, shut up!" Theo interjects, stepping between the arguing pair. He turns to Eddie. "We steal things all the time. Do you think we just have a bunch of money laying around?"

Eddie blushes again. "I know that!" he snaps. "I just don't think Richie should be doing it."

"Why do you have to monitor everything I do? You're not my fucking mom," Richie hisses through his clenched teeth.

"Yeah, well, you'd think I wouldn't have to be," Eddie mutters, "but here we are."

"Okay," Boris says loudly, clapping his hands and rubbing them together like he's organizing a heist. Which, knowing him, he probably is. "Change of plans. I have to leave in two days for business trip into Chicago. Why don't we all go to the mall together tomorrow and find few things to buy, yes? Actually buy. With money." He looks at Theo. "Maybe take few things, too."

Theo shakes his head exasperatedly. "We can't spend money at the _mall_, of all places." He hasn't been to a mall in years, but he knows there's a reason they shop at Walmart. "Absolutely not."

"I have business trip, Potter! I always come back loaded with cash," Boris says with a grin, rubbing his fingers together as if that will convince Theo further (it does—Boris is entertaining). "Please? Pretty please with Popchik on top?" Popper, who is lounging in the corner, lets out a jovial yip.

Theo sighs. "Fine." Richie cheers. "But this is a one-time, special occasion thing. Got it?"

"Got it," Richie says, absolutely teeming with excitement. Argument forgotten, he grabs Eddie's wrist and tugs him to the kitchenette. "You're teaching me how to make that soup."

Richie ends up overcooking the noodles, but it isn't his fault. Eddie singing along to (I Just) Died In Your Arms is distracting.

╌╌╌╌╌╌

"I can't believe we're letting them spend your hard-earned money," Theo complains the next afternoon (after he and Richie run some errands, of course), scowling at the back of Eddie's head.

Boris laughs good-naturedly and bumps Theo's shoulder as they follow Richie and Eddie outside. "You'll come around, Potter. You remember when we were like that, don't you? We had so much fun together." He sounds wistful, almost, and Theo yearns for the days Boris speaks of like water in the desert.

"Maybe having those two around will lighten the load. My magnetism toward childhood shenanigans is already returning," he says dryly, but Boris beams and holds the door for him.

"Exactly! No worries, Potter. This could be good for us. I miss seeing you all the time." Theo almost trips over his own feet at the admission, but Boris politely doesn't notice.

Richie and Eddie have taken the front seats, so Boris has happily climbed into the back. Theo closes the door when he's seated beside Boris and tries not to think too hard about...well, anything, really.

The sun glitters golden in the chocolate brown strands of Eddie's hair. Richie sees it too: the way Eddie's eyes are a few shades lighter than usual and his fingers twitch with energy, whether it be channeled into excitement or irritation. Boris has noticed that Richie can't keep his eyes on the road, and there's nothing to distract him besides the boy in the passenger seat.

When they nearly swerve into the oncoming lane for the third time on their twenty-minute drive to the mall, Theo reaches around the seat to flick the side of Richie's head. "Stop being such a fucking idiot."

Eddie snorts and Boris lets out the loud syllable of a laugh. "Ha! Yes, Ratibor, don't send us off the side of the street. I did not ask to die today."

"Fuck you, Boris," Richie growls, glaring at him in the rearview mirror.

"Your mom," Theo says in the most serious tone he can muster.

Richie can't bite back a smile as Eddie chokes on his laughter and covers his mouth with a hand. "Beep beep, dude."

The smile drops from Richie's face.

Boris leans forward, seatbelt unbuckled, to be right up front. "Beep beep? Like car horn?" He grins wildly. "Beep beep like when they curse on TV?"

"No, it's just something our friends used to say to get Richie to shut his mouth. He didn't earn his dumb nickname for nothing," Eddie explains, giving his best friend's shoulder an amicable jab.

Richie rolls his eyes and reaches over to pinch Eddie's thigh. "Admit it, Eds. You love the Trashmouth."

As soon as they come to a stop right on top of a yellow line in the parking lot, Boris hops out of the truck and establishes himself as the group's official tour guide. "Mall is this way, in that big fucking building over there!" he announces, pointing to the massive sign on the brick wall that says "_Venry Mall_."

"Wow, really?" Theo mocks flatly.

"Yes," Boris says with an oblivious grin. The heels of his boots clack on the asphalt as he marches up to one of the doors and holds it open for the others. "We should get you some clothes first. You have—what? Like, one outfit and a jacket?" he says to Eddie.

Eddie laughs. "Not even. But I'm good with the cheap stuff, if money is tight."

Boris waves a hand dismissively and drawls, "Do not worry," at the same time that Theo says, "That would be good, yeah."

"Do they have Goodwill here? Is Goodwill a mall thing?" Richie squints and adjusts his glasses as he approaches the directory on the wall.

Theo sighs and exchanges a glance with Eddie. "No, Richie, that's not a mall thing."

"Oh," he says disappointedly. "What about Hot Topic? I'm out here tryna' change my look."

Rolling his eyes, Eddie leads his friend away from the directory. "I don't think you are to be trusted in a Hot Topic. You'll probably try to steal a Ramones shirt or something, and have you ever even listened to Ramones?"

"I—"

"No, you haven't, Richie. You haven't listened to Ramones."

"But I'm going to! Right after I get the shirt! I'm going to—"

"No, you won't! I know you won't. Remember what happened with The Smashing Pumpkins?"

Theo and Boris fall into step behind the bickering pair as they wander into a store called "_Plain & Simple_." It's lined wall-to-wall with t-shirts in every possible solid color and shade, and Theo nods his head in approval.

Fitting rooms are much smaller than Richie remembers. He definitely had quite a growth spurt over the course of the year, since he can't move two inches without bumping into a wall. It makes wriggling into skinny jeans much harder than it needs to be.

"Eds!" he calls, cursing under his breath as his elbow slams against the door of the fitting room. "Come help me!"

"What?" Eddie's voice says from the other side of the door.

Richie catches himself before he can fall again, pushing the door open an inch and peering out through the gap. "Help?"

Something similar to Stan's trademarked longsuffering sigh escapes Eddie's mouth. "Seriously? With what?" he asks, already squeezing into the fitting room as Richie opens the door wider.

"I can't get these fucking jeans on in this tiny stall." Richie closes the door behind his friend, staring down into Eddie's wide eyes.

"So your solution was to make your available workspace even smaller?" Eddie squeaks, pointedly keeping his gaze trained on Richie's face.

He's met with a shrug. "I figured another person could help me roll up the pant legs or something, and there's nobody I'd rather have see me pantsless than you, Eds." Richie winks and suggestively bites his lip, which Eddie just rolls his eyes at.

"I hate you. And stop calling me that," he says while Richie continues struggling. Eddie yelps as his foot is kicked out from under him and suddenly he's gripping the collar of Richie's white undershirt, trying not to fall. Eddie watches the taller boy blink down at him, a blush rising on his cheeks.

Richie swallows and adjusts his glasses. "This is a coincidence. Had your mom in a similar position last night."

"Shut up," Eddie hisses, straightening up with a glare. "Just tell me what you need me to do. And watch your fucking lanky-ass noodle limbs."

"Jesus, okay. Sorry." Richie holds his hands up in surrender. "It's not my fault this room is, like, two square inches."

"It's your fault we're both in here," Eddie points out.

With a grin, Richie reaches up to pinch his friend's cheek. "You love it. Get on your knees for me, Eddie Spaghetti. You're gonna' roll up some pant legs and I'm gonna' fit into some dumbass jeans."

The word choice does not help Eddie's blush situation whatsoever, but he manages to maneuver around enough to drop to his knees nonetheless. "Leg up, Trashmouth."

Richie grins wider and lifts his right leg as much as he can. "Just get it up to my ankle and then I'll be good."

Eddie huffs and doesn't look up at the dark eyes watching him intently. "Why are you even thinking about buying these if it's gonna' take you a million years to put them on?"

"They're skinny jeans. That's the point. Other one now?"

A nod, and Richie switches legs. Eddie can't help but wonder when his decision-making had led him down such a horrendous path in life—one that landed him here, in a tiny room, helping Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier into his pants.

"Thanks, Eddie my love," Richie chirps as he pulls the jeans up the rest of the way. Eddie has no idea how he was able to survive that experience, let alone how he's managing to keep his eyes on the PG parts of the scene unfolding.

"Yeah." He sits back on his heels and leans against the door, imagining they're in a much bigger space with less germs and more air.

Richie plops down beside him, wrapping an arm around Eddie's shoulders and pulling him in close. "You okay, Eds?"

"I'm fine. Just...a little homesick. I miss Bill and Stan, y'know?" Eddie drops his head to lean on Richie's shoulder. "As much as I love Bev and Ben and Mike, it was always the four of us for so long." He closes his eyes and breathes in deep. "I miss how it was before, when everything was easier."

A brief silence follows, in which Richie brings the hand previously draped over Eddie's shoulder up to absentmindedly mess with his hair. Richie loves Eddie's hair—always so clean and soft—and he knows Eddie loves the attention. He may not act like it sometimes, but Eddie is kind of an attention whore.

(Only for Richie, but that fact goes unnoticed by all except Mike Hanlon and Stan Uris.)

"I miss them too," Richie begins quietly, and he's about to add something like, _"but I'd rather be here with you than anywhere else,"_ but he just can't.

He doesn't have to, though: "Rat children!" Boris shouts from somewhere in the distance. "I am getting the rings in my skin!"

And that is how they end up at Claire's with a shoplifted pair of skinny jeans—against Eddie's morals, he might add. Boris is screaming as a slender woman in pink pierces his right ear; he is clutching Theo's hand so tightly that he feels like his bones might snap.

(Theo tries not to feel weird about the fact that people can see him holding a boy's hand in public, but he does.)

When all is said and done, however, Boris has a tiny silver ball ornamenting his earlobe, and he can't stop smiling. "I did it, Potter! I got my ear pierced! Are you proud of me or what?"

Theo rolls his eyes but smiles at Boris anyway. "Sure. Super proud."

"Lookin' good, Commie. I still wanna' go to Hot Topic, though," Richie chimes in.

"And actually pay for things," Eddie adds, to which Boris waves his hand dismissively.

"Yeah, yeah. I promise you we stick to morals this time." Boris leads them up the escalator, weaving between people while dodging the gesticulations of Richie Tozier and his pale, stringy limbs.

Hot Topic is pretty much exactly how Richie remembers it from the annual spring break trips to his aunt's house (on the paternal side, of course) in a much more urban city. The store is just as black and gloomy as usual, and the music over the P.A. system is borderline offensive.

Richie beams. "God, I missed the smell of metal and teenage angst."

"You are so, so weird," Theo comments with an exasperated shake of his head. He's the first in the store, quickly disappearing behind racks of studded belts and low-quality bowties. Boris follows closely behind.

Eddie trails along behind Richie as he scopes out some t-shirts. "Are you sure they'll have your size? I don't know if they carry long and stick-like."

"Mm. Try finding dwarf size anywhere, Eddie Spaghetti," Richie says with a wink, booping his friend's nose.

He slaps Richie's hand. "What are you even looking for?" At this point, Eddie would go for pretty much anything comfortable and practical.

"I dunno'. Just—holy shit!" Richie exclaims, reaching over Eddie's shoulder to grab a shirt from the wall rack. "Come on." He barely gives Eddie time to process before he's running off toward the single fitting stall in the back.

While he waits, Eddie finds himself eyeing a pair of ripped, black skinny jeans. He can hear Boris doing voices for some of the vinyl Pop! figures across the store, Theo's laughter contained to a polite-yet-audible volume. It reminds Eddie so much of he and Richie that he almost doesn't look up when the fitting room door opens.

But he does.

Richie steps out and holds his arms out as if presenting himself. "Ta-da!" On his shirt is, of course, the Nirvana logo.

"Wow," Eddie says, unimpressed.

"You don't like it?" Richie does a little twirl, pouting at Eddie when he's facing the right way again.

Eddie shrugs. "It's a shirt. I don't know. You don't even listen to Nirvana, though, so."

"Of course I do!" Richie says, offended. "Plus, it doesn't matter. I need shirts, Eds. Unless you'd prefer I walk around shirtless all the time, in which case—"

Wrinkling his nose, Eddie shakes his head. "God, no, _please_ don't do that. The shirt's fine."

That's when Richie seems to notice the pair of jeans Eddie has in his hands. A terrible, delighted gasp escapes Richie's mouth. "I have an idea! Here." He yanks the shirt off, leaning into the fitting stall to grab his own and pull it back over his head. "You try it on," he says, shoving the shirt into Eddie's arms. "Jeans too."

"If I do, will you promise to never make a joke about my mom again?" Eddie asks, defeated.

Richie smacks a kiss to his cheek. "No promises, Eddie my love. Get in there, darlin'!" he chirps, all Southern belle and smiles as he shoves Eddie into the stall.

"Jesus, Rich, I'm going! Jesus," he mutters, locking the door behind him before changing into the (surprisingly easy-to-manage) jeans (Eddie is beginning to question if Richie even needed help at all earlier). The shirt, having been selected by the tallest man on the planet, is indeed two sizes too big for Eddie, but he kind of likes how loose-fitting it is. It leaves room for him to push his knees up into the shirt on particularly cold nights, curled up against Richie's side, a lanky arm thrown around his shoulders...

Anyway.

He opens the door and steps out, crossing his arms and glaring up at Richie. "There," Eddie says. "You happy?"

Richie adjusts his glasses and huffs out a breath. "Damn, Eds; take off those jeans and we can make it smell like teen spirit back there," he jokes, nodding toward the fitting room.

"Shut up," Eddie says automatically, cheeks tinged pink. "Last time I found that joke funny, I was still _In Utero_."

A brief pause. "What?" Richie asks, tilting his head.

Eddie sighs. "Never mind."

The loudest laugh Eddie has ever heard comes from none other than Boris, who stumbles up next to Richie. "_Nevermind_! I get it. Like the Nirvana record, no?"

"I hate you guys so much," Eddie mutters, turning around to go back into the little stall.

A hand closes around his wrist, tugging him back before he can shut the door. "Wait," Richie says, and then Eddie is staring up into the eyes of his unfairly tall, infuriatingly attractive best friend.

When the silence stretches a beat too long, Eddie breaks it with an annoyed, "What?"

Richie fidgets with his glasses and gives Eddie a once-over. "I think you should buy that. The...The jeans and the shirt. Both. You look...It looks...You look good."

Eddie rolls his eyes and yanks his hand back. "Stop trying to trick me into getting things so you can steal them from me."

"Hey, I'm serious. Have you ever seen me this serious?" Richie asks, eyebrows raised. "Plus, what's mine is yours and vice versa. And it's not even our money, so." He steps forward, catching a finger in the belt loop on Eddie's jeans and gently tugging the shorter boy closer. His voice is a low whisper: "Besides, you'd look adorable wearing my clothes."

And that is how they end up leaving the mall hours later with dozens of bags of too-big tees, a collection of ripped jeans, and some edgy earrings.

╌╌╌╌╌╌

Eddie wakes up on Wednesday morning to the sound of stumbling footsteps and a car honking outside. Richie stirs and squeezes Eddie's waist, but he doesn't wake up.

He tries to go back to sleep despite the noise, but he manages to accidentally think himself wide awake. Why is Richie still here if someone is awake in the house? The past couple of days, Eddie has woken up alone and made his way to Boris's office (a desk in the bedroom) where they've spent hours chatting and goofing off and, on one occasion, nearly crying.

_"I'm just so worried, Ezechiel," Boris whispers, clutching Eddie's hand in both of his. "Potter is still mad at me, I think, for letting you and Ratibor stay here. But I like the two of you very much, and I don't want you to leave, but I am worried that we will run out of money. I can only work so hard."_

_Eddie hugs Boris's arm and closes his eyes. "I know. I'm sorry. I'll get a job, fuck, I'll make _Richie_ get a job—"_

_"No," Boris resigns, wiping his eyes furiously. "I just have to work harder."_

_He spends the next eight hours burning his eyeballs out with the blue light of his computer screen—making calls, forging signatures, tracking cryptocurrency, and transferring money between accounts all the while._

Eddie yawns and wriggles out of Richie's grip to make his way to the foyer. "What's going on?" he asks Theo, who is standing at the window with the blinds pulled apart haphazardly.

"Boris's car is here," he answers distractedly, squinting in the harsh light of the sunrise.

"Boris's car is here?" an accented voice calls from the living room. "Why did no one tell Boris that Boris's car is here!" The man himself tumbles into the dining room and slams into Theo, pushing him out of the way of the window.

Theo shoves him back. "Take your bags and get out, fucker."

"Ha, ha. Hilarious, Potter. You make me laugh so hard. Ah ha ha ha ha," Boris says dryly before opening the door and stepping outside. "See you in a few days. Tell Richie he is man in charge now. Give him a little ego boost," he says to Theo with a small smile.

"Will do. Bye." Theo turns on his heel and stalks off to the kitchenette, the clattering of dishes and cutlery shortly following. "Wake up, asshole! We've got shit to do."

Eddie gives Boris an exasperated look, to which he says, "I do not know what happens in that boy's brain sometimes. He is deeply troubled."

Eddie snorts and shakes his head. "Okay, well. Are you coming back Saturday?"

"Most likely," Boris says, glancing at the car behind him. "I'll see you then, Ezechiel. Keep Potter sane for me, okay? When I get back, he is usually kind of cranky."

"Yeah, of course. I'm sure having Richie to keep him company will help, too."

Boris wrinkles his nose. "Yes, maybe. Goodbye, Ezechiel."

Eddie laughs and steps into the doorway so he's almost at the same height as Boris. "Give me a hug, you dork."

With a laugh and a soft smile, Boris leans forward and wraps his boney arms around Eddie's waist. "I will see you again in few days, tiny one." He receives a firm pat on the back from Eddie before he is released.

"Yeah, whatever." Eddie glances over Boris's shoulder and whistles. "That's a neat car. Impala, right? What year?"

Boris lets out a hearty laugh. "I do not know. Old, is my guess." He gives Eddie one more smile before turning to head down the driveway. He seems to think better of it, though, as he spins on his heel and smiles widely. "You like cars, yes?"

Eddie is taken back to his time in Derry: ten years old and bright-eyed as his new best friend bought him his very first toy car (and inevitably became his first crush, unbeknownst to Eddie at the time). Bill bought him a little metal car every year for his birthday after that, and his interest in them grew exponentially.

His mother was elated, to say the least. Her son was showing interest in something masculine and heterosexual and not dangerous in the slightest, as long as he kept to wooden models and plastic sticker decals and acrylic paint jobs. Little did she know that the next town over had a car show every spring, located just on the other side of Hanlon and Bowers Farms. He walked there when he was thirteen and Mike drove him the years following (yes, illegally, but Mike was a very safe driver).

Ben would always buy Eddie those wooden model cars with the bulky wheels for Christmas, and the painting process was like a bonding experience for he and Stan (and Bev, if she happened to be visiting). They'd always get paint all over their hands somehow—probably because Stan and Eddie couldn't go two seconds without bursting into fits of laughter and shoving each other off the kitchen stools—and Eddie wouldn't have had it any other way. Stan was the only person that understood there was a very specific, orderly ritual that went along with painting the models, and everyone else thought the two of them were weird for needing things to be a certain way. Stan just got it.

Come to think of it, the only person that didn't really have much of an impact on Eddie's ever-growing love for cars is Richie; however, he supposes that it's only fair since Richie has taken over and destroyed every other aspect of Eddie's life, personality, and moral values.

"Yeah," says Eddie, "I like cars."

A bright smile spreads across Boris's face. "Noted, Ezechiel."

He waves from the backseat of the Impala (the year of which Eddie will be researching later) as it drives away, and Eddie misses him already.

"You sending your husband off to the war, Eddie Spaghetti?" Richie quietly teases from the archway.

Eddie whips around and closes the door behind him. "Shut up. Why do you always make everything weird?"

He belatedly sees the tired, kicked-puppy look in Richie's eyes, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth Richie is shaking his head and smiling down at him, and when did Richie get so tall, and when did he get so _close_?

"You're the one that makes it weird, Eds. If you weren't so suspicious all the time, I'd have nothing to make jokes about, and you'd have nothing to freak out and get flustered over." Richie pushes his glasses up on his nose and folds his arms, wearing that stupid soft expression that he always has in the morning.

Eddie clenches his jaw. "You've been fucking with me since the day we met, Rich. Don't you remember the first thing you ever said to me?"

Light pink blooms across Richie's cheeks. He fidgets with his glasses again and plasters on a bright grin. "Sure do, Eds."

"Then I'm sure you know I'm used to your bullshit. I'm going out." Eddie pushes past Richie to grab one of Boris's jackets from the rack on the wall.

Richie's stomach drops. "Oh, so you're wearing his clothes now? That's cute. When shall I be expecting a Christmas card of the happy family?"

"Christmastime, asshole," Eddie snaps automatically, shoving Richie on his way to the door. "We've got a pair of kids and a dog too. You done jerking yourself off yet?" He slams the door before Richie can say anything.

The past few days have been a lot to handle. There are people everywhere—four of them crammed into that tiny house—and it's suffocating. Eddie supposes it could be worse (at least he's having fun), but when two of the four people in the house have thirty personalities between them and voices twice as loud, it gets to be a bit too much. Eddie figures he's due some alone time.

The downtown area is packed full of people. As he walks along the clean streets, Eddie sees a pair of girls through the window of the ice cream parlor. They're pressed up next to each other, sharing a milkshake with two straws, and Eddie doesn't understand.

He passes a Mexican boy with shoulder-length hair and a white woman in front of a Claire's. The boy cries as the woman holds out a makeup kit—one of those cheap ones with the bright blue eye shadow and cherry-red blush—and he seems absolutely elated to the point of tears. Eddie doesn't understand.

A large flag billows down from over a café door, and it's nothing like any flag he's ever seen. He doesn't recall any of the countries he's learned about having a flag composed of every color of the rainbow, but he can't quite remember many details of his schooling. Once again, Eddie doesn't understand.

He sits down at a bench on the outer rim of a circular plaza, shoving his fists in the pockets of Boris's jacket. Eddie has always been aware that Derry is a very sheltered town, but he never realized just how different it is from most suburban towns, or at least what he thinks a suburban town should be after seeing Venry.

Eddie picks at a cuticle as he pulls his knees up to his chest, compressing his lungs so he doesn't feel the need to gasp for as much air. A moment goes by before he exhales, relaxing against the back of the bench. His skin crawls with the thought of how many people have sat here—how many germs and diseases have been transferred and absorbed. He tries to tell himself to leave it all behind in Derry, but that's much easier said than done.

Thoughts of Derry lead back to Richie, as they tend to do. The first time they met was a train wreck, to say the least. It seemed that way on Eddie's end, anyway. Richie hasn't changed much since their elementary years.

_"Eddie, d-d-d-don't you have a l-lunch?" Bill asks on their first day of kindergarten._

_They're sitting at a table pushed up against the wall in a cafeteria full of chattering kids, and Eddie has already decided he hates school. "No," he sighs, fishing a little plastic baggie out of the brand new fanny pack his mom bought him. "Just these; they're vitamins. Mommy says I need my nutrients in the purest form possible."_

_Bill scrunched up his nose. "S-Sounds g-g-gross." He turns to his left, and everyone at the table immediately stops talking to listen to him: "Hey, Richie, can m-my f-f-f-friend have s-some of your l-l-l-lunch?"_

_Eddie watches as a brown-haired boy with huge, bug-eyed glasses turns from whomever he was talking to, takes one look at Eddie, and goes bright red. The sandwich he had been holding falls from his hand, landing on the table with a disgusting splat. "Oh, frick," Richie mumbles, scrambling to pick up the sandwich and put the rest of his lunch in the bag in front of him._

_"What does 'f-f-frick' m-mean?" Bill asks with a tilt of his head._

_"Um, it, uh, it's like a cuss word," Richie stutters out as he adjusts his glasses and points at Eddie. "Sorry, um, who is that?"_

_Eddie purses his lips. "Eddie Kaspbrak. Are you okay?"_

_Still blushing scarlet, Richie clears his throat and holds out his half-eaten sandwich, meeting Eddie's gaze for the first time. "Yeah, you're just really cute. Sandwich?" he continues as if he hadn't just said the most damning sentence of Eddie's life._

_He's the one to blush now, feeling the heat in his cheeks as he drops his gaze to the table. "Shut up. And no, thanks; I'm not allowed to have peanuts. Mommy says I could be allergic."_

_"Really?" Richie's eyes are wide and a deep, pretty shade of brown, Eddie notices when he looks back up. "I've never heard of someone not liking peanut butter."_

_"That's not what an allergy is, stupid," Eddie hisses at the boy diagonal to him, and a few kids near them gasp. "I could have an allergic reaction. Haven't you ever heard of hives?"_

_Richie just beams wider, strangely enough. "I don't know what those words mean, but you sound really cute when you say them."_

_A squeak is the only thing Eddie can get out before Richie is waving the tantalizingly peanut-buttery-smelling sandwich in front of Eddie's face._

_"Come on, Eds. I know you want it."_

_Eddie wrinkles his nose. "Don't call me that. Plus, that sandwich has been on the table, and you've eaten part of it. Do you know how many diseases I can get from that?"_

_"Nope," Richie says with a bright smile. "Try it. Please? For me?"_

_"Who do you think you are?" Eddie raises his eyebrows. "You can't tempt me."_

_Shrugging, Richie waves the sandwich again. "I dunno' what 'tenting' someone means. Please? I feel bad when people don't take my gifts."_

_Eddie sighs and takes the sandwich. "Fine. But only 'cause you asked so nicely."_

_"Cool beans, Eddie Spaghetti." Richie then proceeds to lean all the way across the table—his elbow is almost in Bill's lunch—and smack a wet, sloppy kiss to Eddie's cheek._

_Eddie is bright red as a teacher yells at them from across the cafeteria, but Richie just grins. "I can't ignore a cute face like yours. We're gonna' be best friends."_

And then they were.

On impulse, he cringes at the memory of biting into that sandwich right where Richie's beaver teeth made marks in the bread. One of the only things grosser than eating after someone like that is actually putting your mouth directly on theirs, and then he's thinking about that, and...

Eddie closes his eyes and firmly presses the heels of his hands over them. He can't cry now, he just can't—this is such a stupid thing to cry about—but he does. The tears leak past his hands and make strange, uncoordinated patterns on the sidewalk where they stain it dark brown.

Cars rumble behind him down the street between the plaza and the shops. It takes everything Eddie has to not look behind him at every single noise (the paranoia never leaves), but he doesn't want anyone to see him like this. These rare moments of vulnerability are typically reserved for Richie's Eyes Only, mostly because Richie causes them, and Eddie's worst nightmare would be having to see him right now, let alone anyone else.

He counts the cars as they go by. One, two, three, a long pause...Four, five, sixseveneight all in succession. Nine, ten, a long pause...

And a longer pause...

A car honks its horn, and Eddie hears it swerve around on the street. He furiously wipes his eyes before turning around, and there, stopped in the middle of the road, is Richie's rusty, disgusting, silver pickup truck. The man himself is leaning against the door, staring down at his hands as he twiddles his thumbs.

Eddie gets to his feet and stomps toward him. "What the fuck are you doing?" he borderline shouts.

Richie flinches and looks up, a deer-in-headlights type of fear in his eyes. "Oh," he says with a smile that looks more like a grimace. "Fancy seein' you here."

"Fuck off. Why are you stalking me?" Eddie jabs a finger into the taller boy's chest.

A surprised laugh escapes Richie's mouth. "I—I'm not stalking you. I was just looking for you."

"Then why are you standing here like a creep?" Eddie narrows his eyes.

That steady blush is making its way across Richie's cheeks, and Eddie can't even begin to think about the reason that is happening. "Because I miss you," he whispers, and Eddie is taken aback by his sudden serious disposition.

"What?" Eddie squeaks, hand dropping to his side.

Richie laughs nervously and pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "I just—I feel like shit all the time because I've been gone the past few days running errands with Theo and every time I come home you're hanging out with Boris and having so much fun and I just miss being your best friend. I sound so fucking dumb right now because it's been, like, half a week or something and I see you all the time, but I miss you so much and I told Theo I was gonna' go out and get paper towels because we're out but I just wanted to find you and tell you how fucking sorry I am that I take everything out on you but I just want to be..." He trails off, staring at the ground for a moment before reaching out and gently taking Eddie's hands. "I want to be..."

Richie can't think of a way to say _"I want to be your number one again"_ without it sounding too close to what he actually means. Eddie has always been too important to take a risk like that, so Richie just lets the silence swell for a moment.

"Jesus, Richie," Eddie says breathlessly. "You're always gonna' be my best friend. Boris is awesome and he helps me get through the day, but I...I _love_ you, Trashmouth. The only reason I _need_ to get through the day is because you're gone. And I know it's important for one of us to help Theo or he'll kick us out, so I don't blame you, but I miss you too."

Richie leans his forehead against Eddie's and thinks, '_If there's any time to kiss him, it's now_,' but then his stomach does that terrifying swoopy thing and his pulse is throbbing through his whole body and he can't do it. He lets go of Eddie's hands in favor of pulling him into a tight hug. "I love you too, Eds."

He takes Eddie's hand again as he drives them home, and Richie's still holding on when they walk back into the now-empty house. He allows himself to be led over to the couch.

"It's still kinda' early," Eddie says quietly, coaxing Richie to sit down. "Don't worry about the paper towels, okay? I'll handle Theo."

"No." Richie shakes his head and stretches out on the couch, holding the blanket open. "Let's just go back to sleep. I'll deal with him later."

Eddie grimaces and looks out the window at the relatively low-hanging sun. "Richie..."

"Eds," he says firmly, tugging Eddie's hand. "Please."

Richie is staring up with wide, pleading eyes and a pout that Eddie loves to say "No" to, but he relents this time. He sighs dramatically and climbs on top of Richie, burying his face in his best friend's chest to hide his blush. "Go to sleep," he mumbles, fist curled tightly in the hem of Richie's shirt.

Eddie falls asleep first, but Richie isn't far behind. He dreams that Eddie calls Theo a psychopathic dictator and tells him to "get your own goddamn paper towels, you sadistic whore." It's the funniest dream he's had all summer.

Don't get him wrong, Richie loves Theo, but he could stand to be taken down a few pegs.

╌╌╌╌╌╌

Exactly one week after they arrived in Illinois, when Boris is back home, Richie wakes up at six o'clock on the dot. He extracts himself from Eddie's grip and smiles as his best friend rolls over and snuggles up underneath the blanket, mumbling in his sleep.

Throwing on his second-favorite shirt—the black-and-beige Hawaiian button-up he stole from Walmart that blurry morning—Richie heads to the bathroom to fix his hair and brush his teeth. By the time he's out, Theo has just finished feeding Popper.

"What's on the agenda fer today, mate?" Richie asks in his most awful imitation of a pirate.

Theo rolls his eyes but gives Richie the most sincere smile he's seen from the guy all week. "We're going to pick up some Funyuns for Boris. Now that we have a car, he's been requesting things. It's quite annoying."

Richie laughs at full volume because he knows even a sleeping Eddie is used to it. "Alright, Decker. And food for Popper, right?"

"Absolutely correct."

They head out right at six-twenty, just as they do every morning. And Richie enjoys roaming the aisles at Walmart and PetCo and fucking around at H&M just because he can—because he and Theo can.

Richie Tozier has made a friend, something he hasn't done since meeting Beverly Marsh (who FaceTimes him that evening). It's a good life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random side note: I got a puppy and I named her Popper so writing this is going to be very confusing from now on.


	3. "only wish for what you can use"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: homophobia, homophobic slurs, recreational drugs.

A month goes by and things are running much more smoothly now. They've fallen into a pattern: Richie and Theo run errands all morning—sometimes well into the afternoon—Eddie looks after Popper and does the household chores that were previously Theo's responsibility, and Boris watches the stock market and occasionally goes on runs for his "totally legitimate business" to its many locations. He's due back from another three-day trip to Chicago around dinnertime.

"I'm so fucking  _bored_," Richie announces.

He and Eddie are sitting on the couch watching  _Victorious_ with Bill's Netflix account, a bowl of chips in Richie's lap and a container of salsa on the coffee table in front of them. Theo has been sulking in his room pretty much the whole time Boris has been gone, refusing to even run errands now that he has Richie to do it for him.

Eddie reaches over to grab one of the tortilla chips. "Me too. It's like whenever Boris is on one of his 'business trips,' Theo just bitches at us and sucks the fun out of this place." Without dipping it in the salsa, Eddie pops the chip in his mouth.

"Boris doesn't have to be here for us to have fun," Richie says stiffly.

Eddie's gaze is questioning when it lands on Richie's, staring through thick lenses, right past Richie's eyes and straight into his soul. There's just this way Eddie has of looking at him, like there's a lie hidden in the subtext of whatever dumb thing came tumbling out of his trashmouth this time.

Before Eddie has the chance to respond, Theo rounds the corner and goes sprinting into the dining room. Richie flinches and the chips jostle a bit, but Eddie grabs the bowl before any real damage is done. 

"What's going on?" Eddie stands and follows Theo to the front of the house; Richie can't help but trail after (he wants his tortilla chips back).

Theo is staring out the window, prying the broken shutters apart with both hands. He's squinting as if the fading sunlight burns to look at. "Boris is back," he croaks, voice hoarse. 

Eddie gasps and presses his face to the window beside Theo. "Sick," he whispers, marveling at the Impala (1989, he's discovered) with hearts in his eyes as it pulls up to the house. "Is that, like,  _his_ car?"

"His driver's," Theo says before scrambling over to the front door, nearly running Richie over on his way. He flings the door open, and his disposition immediately shifts to that of someone who has most certainly not been moping around for days and waiting for his best friend to come home.

Boris is beaming as he strides up the driveway, pumps clacking on the blacktop. "Potter, darling!" he coos from the sidewalk. "Looking beautiful as ever."

Theo bristles and steps out of the doorway. "You look crusty, as per usual."

"Ezechiel!" Boris steps inside and pulls Eddie into a hug. "I missed you, tiny one."

Eddie giggles—fucking  _giggles_; Richie is so jealous—and wraps his arms around Boris's middle. "I missed you too."

Boris lets go with one arm to reach out and yank Richie in. "Join the group hug, rat boy!"

"Dude, what?" Richie wheezes, lungs crushed by Boris's surprising brute strength. 

"I said: 'Join the group hug, Ratibor.'"

"You definitely did not."

"He did!" Eddie intervenes, and Richie sticks his tongue out. 

Boris lets go. "You two can swap spit later. For now, I have surprise! Many surprises, actually." He pulls out four slips of card stock rubberbanded together. "I have tickets to Venry High football team's summer kickoff!"

"How and when did you even get those?" Theo says at the same time that Eddie wonders: "That's a thing?"

They end up underneath the bleachers, Theo peering between the seats to try and catch a glimpse of the football field as Boris treats hiding a lit cigarette from him like a game. Richie and Eddie are sitting on the ground, the latter practically in Richie's lap due to the fact that "The cold-ass dirt is gonna' give me hypothermia, Rich! I can't sit on that!" and "My dick is warm, why don't you—" and "Don't you  _fucking_ dare finish that sentence, I swear to god; that is the worst thing you've ever said to me."

"Truth or dare, Ezechiel?" Boris takes a drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke right at the back of an oblivious Theo's head.

Eddie shifts in Richie's lap. "Truth." He's too comfortable to get up for a dare.

Boris grins and goes for the obvious question: "Do you have a crush on anyone?"

"No," he answers immediately. "Richie, truth or dare?"

"Dare," Richie says with a suggestive smirk that Eddie has to twist in order to see.

With a sigh, Eddie thinks for a moment. "Dare you to buy me a hotdog at the concession stand."

"Deal. Boris, truth or dare?" Richie lets his hands come to rest on Eddie's hips, mostly because it's comfortable but also because it makes Eddie blush.

"Dare."

"Kiss Theo."

"Okay," he says easily, dropping the cigarette and putting it out under the toe of his boot.

Theo doesn't object at all when Boris walks over, turns his head away from the football game and kisses him square on the mouth. He doesn't seem to mind PDA all that much now that they're hidden from view of the other patrons, except...

"You taste like smoke," Theo accuses as soon as his mouth isn't preoccupied. He flicks Boris's forehead. "Dumbass."

Boris laughs loudly and turns back to the pair on the ground. "Ezechiel."

"Truth," Eddie says again because he's a coward.

"What is your fondest memory?"

He blinks. "Uh. Well."

A blurry image comes to mind, and he feels this tingly sensation spread throughout his entire body. He squirms a little, trying as hard as he can to remember anything at all that didn't take place within the last month and a half. 

Eddie shifts around so he can easily see Richie, sitting sideways in his lap. "I think...The first thing I thought of was kinda' fuzzy. Do you remember the, uh...There was, like, a...There was a..."

Richie furrows his brow. "That, um. The thing underground, right?"

Eddie snaps his fingers triumphantly. "Yeah! Yes. The clubhouse. Um, Ben built it. Yeah. There was that other thing, though. That thing we'd always...Jesus, what would we do?"

"We'd end up, um. We'd end up squished together somehow," Richie says, embarrassed that this is what he remembers. "The hammock, right?"

"Yeah, the hammock. I remember the first time I got in it with you, and you put your hand on my leg like this." Eddie grabs Richie's wrist and moves his hand so it's splayed out over Eddie's bare thigh, and he immediately wonders why he did that. To jog his memory, perhaps? True, but that's just a side effect. 

To indulge for a bit? Even truer.

Eddie can't speak for a moment, the feeling of Richie's large hand on his skin preventing his brain from functioning properly. Richie's hands used to be so much smaller, roughly the same size as Eddie's, but his growth spurt—now when did  _that_ happen? He just can't fucking remember—has made him seem absolutely gargantuan in comparison to the ever-miniature Eddie Kaspbrak.

"My fondest memory is that time I climbed into the hammock with you and you let me take a nap on you," Eddie says, forgetting why he was answering this question or who he was even supposed to be talking to.

Boris doesn't seem to care, as he and Theo are locked in some kind of staring contest and have seemed to completely tune out the other two boys' trip down memory lane. 

Richie grins. "My fondest memory is that time a cute boy wore these short shorts that drove me absolutely nuts and sat in my lap and made out with me."

"Fuck you," Eddie spits, going completely red. "That never happened."

"It could. And I'm happy you acknowledge your cuteness." Richie leans in and makes the same kissy noises that a five-year-old would, and Eddie just shoves his face with a hand.

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

Eddie glares. "You're really stuck on this whole kissing thing."

"What if I just really like kissing you?" Richie raises both eyebrows. "You're very kissable. You get it from your mom."

"Okay, this is just getting ridiculous." Eddie gets up and offers a hand to his best friend. "You're buying my hotdog now."

Richie insists on holding Eddie's hand as they walk to the concession booth. Nobody comments and no one stares at them, and Richie has never loved a town more than he loves Venry.

After he successfully pays for the hotdog (with Boris's cash), he makes Eddie let Richie feed it to him bite by bite. Eddie continues to question Richie's intentions, but it's a moot point.

"Why do you always do weird, suggestive things like this?" Eddie complains, having once again found his way into Richie's lap. "Just let me have my fallic-shaped food item and don't make it weird."

Richie and Boris both laugh at that. "Ezechiel, you know it has to be weird. Is what makes it funny."

Eddie pouts and makes a grab for the hotdog, but Richie holds it high above his head. "If you think I won't climb you like a tree, you are sorely mistaken."

He puts on his best Radio Announcer Voice: "As much as I would absolutely love for you to climb me, this is a family establishment and I will not tolerate inappropriate conduct of any kind." Richie hands over the hotdog, which Eddie takes gratefully.

"Mm," is all Eddie says in response, too busy chowing down on his food to bother with sentences.

Boris claps right in front of Theo's face, effectively ending their third staring contest in a row. "Ha! I win," he shouts, holding out a hand for Eddie to high-five. 

"Only because you play dirty." Theo stuffs his hands in the pockets of his pants. "We should go get ice cream."

"Excellent idea, Potter!" Boris marches out from under the bleachers and off toward the parking lot.

Theo scrambles after him. "I didn't mean right now!" he calls, laughing all the while.

There have been moments in Eddie's life in which he has felt so overwhelmed with anxiety that he ran right to his mother, who instructed him to use his inhaler and held him as he cried. As much as he hates to admit it, he misses his mother—how she made him feel safe, how she always knew exactly what to do to make him feel better. He can't remember specific examples of this, but he remembers the feeling. Now he knows that version of his mother is dead, replaced by what he understands has always been there: lies, selfishness, and a shit ton of gazebos.

(Placebos. He knows that now too.)

There have been other times where Eddie has been overwhelmed in a different way: when he was so embarrassed and flustered and confused that he had no choice but to introspect. These were the moments when Eddie would lock himself in his room and blame his absence from school and the typical hangouts on his mother. He would always stay home just long enough to collect himself but never long enough for Sonia to go into emergency mode, which was typically right around two days. 

When he sits on his bed and has nothing to do but think, there are almost always epiphanies.

The first one:  _'I am too delicate to play with these boys.'_ That thought pattern didn't last long, however, since almost as soon as he got back to school Richie convinced him to try the monkey bars, holding Eddie's waist the whole time and making sure he didn't fall.

The second:  _'I don't like living here.'_ Derry was suffocating. It felt like everything and everyone there was a curse bent on belittling Eddie until he wilted like a flower—except Richie, Bill, Stan, and (eventually) the other Losers. They built him up: Mike, who made Eddie feel like he was someone worth protecting; Ben, who made Eddie feel like he deserved a kind word here and there; Bev, who made Eddie feel like he was worth hanging out with.

Stan, who made him feel like he could assuage his anxieties.

Bill, who made him feel brave. 

Richie, who makes him feel loved.

His third epiphany was that feeling loved by Richie was, for some reason, not enough. He couldn't precisely place what about it was wrong until the moment they crossed the border of Derry and were free at last—free to be themselves and be with each other in a way that seemed natural, what should have been obvious from the beginning.

That was his fourth epiphany, the fact that he is in love with Richie. It feels a lot less dramatic than it should, but perhaps that's because it came as more of an  _"Oh, by the way,"_ than a  _"You're not going to fucking believe this."_

The fifth occurrence to come out of his introspection is not an epiphany at all; in fact, it's the opposite of one. He cannot for the life of him remember why his self-esteem is so high. When he thinks back to his childhood in Derry, he just remembers his mother repeatedly convincing him of his delicacy. One by one, his epiphanies slip away. He can't remember how to grasp onto them.

There's absolutely no way Richie by himself was able to show Eddie he's worth anything at all unless he's somehow managed to procure the eloquence for it, but there must have been someone who understood his need for things to just be a certain way and someone who was enough of a loser to talk to him but cool enough to make him feel special. There had to be others in Derry, other good people that weren't Richie.

His phone buzzes, the name  _"Mother Mike"_ popping up above the contents of his iMessage, and all at once Eddie remembers the Losers and forgets that he had forgotten.

A pair of fingers snaps in Eddie's face, and he flinches backward. "Earth to Dr. K! You awake in there?"

Eddie looks up and finds Richie's eyes. "Yeah, sorry. I just got kind of overwhelmed. You guys move so fucking fast for no reason."

Richie grins. "Undiagnosed ADHD will do that to ya'." He grabs Eddie's hand and tugs him along behind Theo and Boris.

"What's ADHD?" Eddie furrows his brow and diligently follows.

"This thing Theo was telling me about. Means your attention goes all over the place, plus hyperactivity or something."

Eddie hums. "Sounds like you. Hey, Mike texted. He wants to know how we're doing and if we can all Facetime on Friday."

Richie squeezes his hand. "Of course we can, Eddie Spaghetti. Hey, Boris!" he calls, letting go of Eddie to run up and dangle his keys in his cousin's face. "You know how to drive? Eds and I wanna' make out in the backseat."

Surprisingly enough, Boris does know how to drive. He takes them to the cute little ice cream shoppe downtown, and Eddie immediately falls in love with the adorable retro style. It looks like a diner from an eighties movie or something.

"Hey, guys!" the teenage employee says as they approach the counter. "I've missed you the past few weeks."

Boris fishes his wallet out of his pocket and hands over a twenty as Theo says, "Sorry, we've been busy. Slow night?"

She nods and takes the bill, carefully sliding it into the register. "Even my manager went home, which I think may be illegal. What can I get for you?"

"The usual," Theo says with a smile. "Plus whatever they're having." He nods in Eddie and Richie's direction.

"Oh!" The girl beams at the pair like she's only just noticed them. "And who might you two be?"

Richie proudly holds out a hand. "Trashmouth Tozier—"

"Richie."

"—and that there's the wife, Eddie Spaghetti Kaspbrak." Eddie smacks his arm. "Pleasure to meet you."

She giggles and shakes Richie's hand. "Adriana. Nice to meet you too."

"The lady and I will have two cones of chocolate, please," Richie says in a pretty accurate English accent, throwing his arm around Eddie's shoulders and ruffling his hair.

Adriana laughs and hands the change to Boris. "Coming right up."

As they're waiting for Adriana to make their ice cream, Boris leads the way and claims a booth by the window. Richie, of course, pulls Eddie down beside him and keeps his arm around his best friend.

"Dude, I can tell you haven't showered in a week," Eddie complains. "Get your disgusting body away from me."

Richie nuzzles Eddie's cheek with his nose. "In case you've forgotten, Eds, you have also not showered in a week. We can change that tonight, if you want. Maybe both of us can save some water and—"

"Fuck off, Trashmouth," Eddie snaps, face reddening.

Adriana appears at their table and hands Theo a vanilla milkshake. "There you go," she says as she gives Boris his bright pink bubblegum sundae with sprinkles, chocolate sauce and whipped cream. "I'll be back with yours in a minute," she says to Richie and Eddie, winking at them before heading back to the counter. 

Eddie goes a few shades darker and squirms a bit. "We should play a game."

"Ooh!" Boris says immediately. "I know. Twenty questions."

Theo pats Boris's arm. "He plays it differently," he says to the pair across from them. "He just asks a bunch of questions and we all have to answer them."

"That is how they play in Ukraine!" Boris says defensively, shoveling pink ice cream into his mouth.

"I somehow don't believe you." Theo seems more amused than anything, however, so Boris takes this as a sign to begin the game.

"If you could fuck any celebrity, who would it be?"

Eddie wiggles closer to Richie like he will somehow be able to protect Eddie from answering this question. Richie just laughs and pulls his friend closer. "I think you should go first, Boris."

"Ha! That is easy question. Mikaela Shiffrin," Boris says with a devilish smile.

"Who even is that?" Richie asks, eyebrows furrowed.

Theo sighs. "An Olympic skier. He has a thing for them. I don't know why."

Adriana saves them from having to hear Boris explain his thing for Olympic ski champions by bringing out two cones of chocolate ice cream. "Here you go." She smiles wider as Richie and Eddie take their desserts. "You two are really cute. I just wanted to say."

Richie grins and smacks a wet, sloppy kiss to Eddie's cheek. "It's all him, Miss. My Eds is the cutest person alive."

She giggles again. "It's good that you two found each other. I wish I had someone that appreciated me as much as your boyfriend appreciates you," she says to Eddie, and despite his blind rage and heated embarrassment, he doesn't miss the way her gaze flicks to Theo for a moment. It's distracting enough that he doesn't remember to correct her assumption until she's already gone.

"What the fuck, Richie?" he snaps, shoving his friend's side and moving out from under his arm.

Richie just laughs and pinches Eddie's cheek. "You're so cute. You should be flattered, Eds. Any chick would kill to be in your place."

"Kate Upton, I think," Theo interrupts before the argument can escalate any further. "What about you, Eddie?"

And then there's a whole new problem. Because Eddie genuinely has no idea who he would pick. He's never thought about it, and he knows that if he did think about it, not a single woman would appear anywhere on that list.

"Richie's mom," is what comes out of his mouth, and he has never been so grateful to hear Boris's booming laugh.

Theo smiles and shakes his head, turning his attention to Richie. "What about you?"

"The answer's pretty obvious, I think: the famous, the loved, the wonderful Dr. Edward Spaghedward fuckin' Kaspbrak."

Eddie scowls at the table and takes a few licks of his ice cream. "I hate you."

Richie slings an arm around the shorter boy's shoulders again. "Sure you do."

"Okay, I have next question," Boris says. "Who was your first kiss? Mine was ex, Kotku," Boris says fondly.

"Pippa," is Theo's contribution.

Boris gasps. "New York girl? Potter, you must be joking!"

Theo glares at his friend. "Why would I be joking?"

"She is so...so..." He gives up on articulating and just makes a gagging noise.

Theo punches Boris in the arm as hard as he can. "Fuck you. She's great." He turns to the other side of the table. "What about you, Richie?"

A blinding grin manifests on Richie's face. "Eddie's mom. Ow!" he yelps as the aforementioned boy kicks him under the table. "Jeez. Fine, Eds, it wasn't your mom. You remember Rosie from Biology? It was her."

Eddie tries not to attack him again. "Yeah. She's pretty."

"Yeah, well." Another beaming smile. "So am I. What about you, Eddie my love?" Richie coos.

And suddenly, Eddie has the brilliant idea to be completely and utterly mortified. He just knows that his face is an unflattering shade of red. "Nope. Nuh-uh, Richie."

"Aw, Eds!" Richie reaches out and pinches his friend's cheek. He is rewarded with a slap to his hand. "Have you not had your first kiss? I find that hard to believe, since you're so...," he trails off, eyebrows furrowing as he absentmindedly mutters, "cute..."

Eddie shifts uncomfortably and glances over at Theo and Boris, who are watching the scene unfold with intense yet discreet interest.

Richie lets his hand drop, sitting up straighter as the crease between his eyebrows becomes more defined and the corners of his mouth turn down. "But that's impossible because I—" He stops himself, face softening as his gaze flicks up to meet Eddie's. "Was I—?"

"Shut up, Richie. Shut up shut up shut  _up_!" Eddie shouts, sinking down in his seat and covering his face. 

His options right now: fight, in which he will have to inevitably break Richie's glasses or his spirit—whichever comes first—or flight, which is seeming like the best move at this point. 

A hand on his arm. "Eds, no, I didn't mean to—"

"You never  _mean_ to," Eddie snaps, shoving Richie's hand away. "You just  _do_." He scrambles out of the booth and tugs at his hair with both hands like he can pull solutions from his scalp. "Fuck, I'm—I'm going home."

Boris climbs over Theo's lap and trips a bit before he's able to draw up to his full height. "At least let me drive you, Ezechiel," he says exasperatedly, holding up Richie's keys.

That's what makes Richie finally get to his feet. "_No_," he says, grabbing his keys from Boris (who certainly has the reflexes to pull away, but he must have some capacity for human decency since those keys do, in fact, belong to Richie). "Eds, come on. We can talk about this."

An embarrassed flush covers Eddie's cheeks. "Whatever. Just—whatever, Richie." He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket— _Richie's_ jacket, and how did he not notice Eddie was wearing that?—before stomping outside.

"Are you guys okay walking home?" Richie asks the pair still seated. 

He's already on his way out the door when Boris nods and says, "See you at home, Ratibor!"

Theo rolls his eyes. "Why do you call him that?"

Boris grins and gives his friend a mischievous wiggle of his eyebrows. "Sounds like 'rat.'"

The ice cream shoppe is alive with their laughter.

╌╌╌╌╌╌

The image is so fresh in Eddie's mind that it might as well have happened yesterday (which is strange, considering his weak grasp on most of his other memories in Derry): Richie's hands clutching at the fabric of a t-shirt, eyes filled with raging fire behind thick lenses, Richie's mouth and his voice and oh dear god they can never go home. Not after running away, not after what happened...

Henry Bowers had a very strange fixation on the word "faggot."

Eddie would be walking home from school, sometimes with Bill or Richie or both of them plus Stan, and Bowers would never miss the chance to call Eddie a fairy or a faggot or "girly boy" or something like that. Whenever Richie was there, Bowers would say shit to him too. 

Until the summer just before sophomore year. They were fifteen and Richie had a sudden growth spurt that still shows no signs of stopping to this day, and Eddie just wanted to hang out with him because not being around Richie is a blessing and a curse all rolled into one.

At this point, there was no way Henry Bowers wasn't actively seeking them out.

Eddie still has no idea what had prompted this whole thing, but he remembers Bowers approaching them (without his friends, for once) and interrupting Richie's story about his first kiss (it was with Rosie Spear two days prior).

_Bowers lays out his usual speech: "What are a coupla' fags like you doing in Derry? Homos ain't allowed in my town."_

_And Richie just—Richie_ loses _ it._

_He's at least two inches taller than Bowers—Richie stands at an awkward six-foot-zero at the moment—so as soon as he gets in the mullet-wearing asshole's space, Eddie isn't completely surprised by Henry's immediate backward stumbling. Richie is truly terrifying in his own way._

_"Just a couple of faggots, huh?" Richie spits, eyes narrow. "Look me in the eye and say that again, fucker."_

_Bowers shoves at his chest, glaring up at Richie. "This town doesn't need more pieces of shit like you, Tozier. Fags got no place here."_

_"Why don't you say that into my mouth, then?"_

_It's silent for a moment before a thoroughly confused Henry Bowers just shakes his head and stares up at Richie. "What?"_

_And then Richie, angry heat rolling off of him in waves, grabs Bowers by the collar of his dumb red shirt and yanks him into a kiss._

_Eddie has seen two boys kiss before. He knows it's a thing that happens and he knows that it's dumb to tell people that doing said thing is wrong in any way (yet it's practically punishable by death in Derry), but he's never really..._thought _ about it before._

_It isn't until he has seen Richie's lips crushed up against another boy's (it was a fairly angry, graceless kiss) that he realizes maybe he wants to know what that feels like. _

_And then he shuts the thought down, locks it up and never brings it to light again._

_Richie shoves Henry away. "Why don't you bring your little friends next time, huh? Then maybe I can suck all their dicks for twenty bucks or something."_

_Bowers stops bothering them after that._

_That isn't the important part, though; it happens later the same day when Eddie has dragged Richie back to his house, past his sleeping mother and up to his room. _

_"Are you crazy?" Eddie whisper-yells as Richie vigorously brushes his teeth (he keeps an extra toothbrush at the Kaspbraks'). "You can't just go around kissing boys. Did you have a fucking stroke, Richie?"_

_Richie's cheeks are puffed out a little from the mouthwash he's sloshing around. He shakes his head and spits in the sink. "It's fine, Eds. There's nothing wrong with it." He narrows his eyes at Eddie in the mirror. "You don't think there's anything wrong with it, do you?"_

_Eddie's eyes go wide as a blush expands across his face. "No, of course not, Rich. I just meant, like...Look at where we live, okay? Think about it. Also, there are plenty of boys you could kiss that are significantly better choices than Henry Bowers."_

_There is a mischievous glint in Richie's eyes as he turns to face Eddie. "Boys like...you?"_

_A tiny gasp escapes Eddie's mouth. "I didn't—I don't—"_

_And then Richie leans down to plant a firm kiss on Eddie's lips. It's nothing extravagant—the kiss only lasts about four seconds (Eddie counts. Four seconds is kind of a long time)—but it's completely devoid of hesitation, and Richie even does this nice thing where he swipes his tongue across Eddie's bottom lip for a moment, and it's just generally a pretty nice first kiss. _

_And then Richie pulls away, that stupid grin plastered on his face once again. "Cute cute cute!" he says, ruffling Eddie's hair. "I love when you get all pink like that."_

_Eddie peeks at himself in the mirror to find that he is, in fact, completely pink. He looks back at Richie and shoves his chest without any real force. "Fuck off."_

They never talked about it, necessarily, but it's not like they really  _avoided_ talking about it, either. If someone were to ask if they've ever kissed, they would both say yes in a heartbeat. It's a good thing no one ever asks. 

"Eds, wait!" Richie calls after his best friend, jogging along the sidewalk to catch up. "Are you mad at me?"

Eddie glares at the ground. "No. No, fuck, I'm not  _mad_ at you, I just wish you didn't make such a big deal out of things." He stops and turns to face Richie, which may or may not be a mistake.

His already-wide brown eyes are especially large behind his glasses. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you flip out on me."

"It's just..." Eddie huffs, flustered under the light of the street lamps. "Look, you were my first kiss, okay? And I know you couldn't have known that because it's not like I ever talked about that stuff, but...it was an important moment to me." He blushes deeper and shakes his head like he's trying to Etch-a-Sketch his embarrassment away.

Richie bites his lip. "And I took it away from you without even thinking," he says quietly, almost a whisper.

A sigh. A nod. "Yeah. You did." Eddie presses a hand to his temple and squeezes his eyes shut. "Why did you do it, Richie? I can't for the life of me understand what could have possibly provoked you to fucking...to fucking kiss me in my goddamn  _bathroom_."

The air whistles with a chill that hadn't hit Eddie until now. His body is starting to catch up with the temperature of the ice cream that generally doesn't fare well with windy July nights in the Midwest. The stars knowingly wink at him— _"We know your secret, we know what you want"_ —and Eddie's head pounds with the silence.

"Because I wanted to," Richie whispers, low underneath the wind's murmurs.

Eddie opens his eyes. "You did?"

"Of course I did, Eds." Richie's voice is weak and shaking harder than the leaves around them. "I thought you knew that."

And then, in the midst of the quiet night, a piercing scream.

It must be reflexes or instinct or this innate primal urge to protect that Richie always wastes on Eddie—_'_ _Stop, no, you're not a waste, Eds; you matter just like everyone else,_ _'_ he tells himself—but at the moment it doesn't matter what it is because Richie is sprinting down the street like he's been divinely summoned to the other side of town.

The scream rings out again and Eddie takes off after his friend. "Richie!" he shrieks, the déjà vu of this moment setting off alarms in his head. But when would this have happened before? Eddie can't remember a reason he and Richie would be running around screaming in the middle of the street.

Richie doesn't stop, so neither does Eddie. They keep going until the screaming has died down to muffled groans coming from ten feet in front of them, and Richie halts underneath a street lamp. Eddie jogs up beside him and clings to his arm, trying to catch his breath.

"Fuck," she hisses from across the asphalt. "Fuck!"

There is a girl sitting under the light on the other side of the street. Her head is in her hands, the sleeves of her jacket pulled past her fingertips like the paws of a black cat. She's trembling and muttering to herself and it all just sounds like syllables. 

"You okay?" Richie steps forward, his arm slipping from Eddie's grip as he stands right on the edge of the circle of light surrounding the girl.

Her head lifts from her hands and the first thing Eddie thinks is that she is beautiful. Her dark, narrow eyes are framed by bold eyeliner that sharpens into thin wings; the deep wine red of her lipstick serves to bring out a certain suspicion in her expression. "What do you want?" she asks cautiously.

Richie steps closer. "Was that you screaming? My friend and I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

The girl stands and shoves her hands in her pockets, and Eddie's breath is completely stolen from his lungs. She's tall—not taller than Richie, even in her inch-and-a-half-heeled boots, but close. Black leggings stretch tightly over her long, lean legs, and a salmon pink crop-top shows off a belly button ring that Eddie is positive has actual diamonds on it. 

"I'm fine," she says in a melodic, low voice, the timbre of which Eddie would liken to a professional actress. 

This is the type of girl that Eddie would have convinced himself he had fallen halfway in love with a year ago, but now he understands that he simply can't. And it hurts, knowing that Richie absolutely can—knowing that Richie is seeing all the same things about her that Eddie is, but instead of wondering how she would do his makeup (is Eddie a glitter and rainbows guy or are natural tones more his thing?), Richie is thinking about all the ways he could proposition her. Most likely.

"Who even are you?" Eddie asks, shuffling up next to Richie.

"Who are  _you_?" The girl's piercing gaze focuses on Eddie, and he practically melts inside. It's not like he fawns over every female in sight because he's a little homosexual teenager with mostly male friends and he can't wait to worship some hot girl in all her fabulous glory, but he can't help the fact that something feels particularly right about this. Maybe she's destined to end up in Eddie's life because she and Richie will start dating and Eddie will be their gay third wheel. It happens all the time in movies.

Richie takes a deep breath. "I'm Richie. This is Eddie. My mom's an alcoholic and his has Munchausen by proxy." (Theo had explained it to him a few weeks ago after a heavy session of googling.)

"Rich!" Eddie hisses, smacking his best friend's arm.

"What? She's clearly got shit going on. I figured I'd let her know she can trust us." He doesn't say what neither he nor Eddie want to admit: those details are pretty much the only things they can remember from their hometown, besides some stuff here and there. Other people. Other traumas.

Eddie scowls. "Exclude me from your exposition dump next time, asshole."

The girl laughs, drawing both boys' attention back to her. She gives Eddie a small smile, and he wants to catch it and keep it in a jar. "You're adorable."

His face burns with something between bliss and mortification. "I was just—"

"See, Eds? Told you you're adorable," Richie says with a bright smile, reaching out to pinch Eddie's cheek.

His hand is smacked away. "Fuck you, dude."

"Mimi Chao," the girl says, and she's smiling at Eddie when he looks at her again. "That's my name. And my mom is fine—it's my dad that's the problem."

"What happened?" Richie inquires, eyebrows lifting slightly. 

She shrugs, pulling her left hand out of her pocket to wave dismissively. "Oh, you know." With a smile, she lets them know that's the end of that thread. "Hey, I know you," she says to Richie.

He stutters out a quick, "You—You do?"

"Yeah. You're that kid that always steals stuff from Walmart." Mimi raises a single eyebrow, a skill that both boys have yet to master. "You almost hit me with your truck in the parking lot, like, a month ago. And you ran into me in the clothing section. And you took the last bag of Takis, which I kind of wanted."

Richie stumbles over his words, which isn't something Eddie sees very often. Eventually, he settles on a sentence: "You remember all that?"

"You clearly don't." She shrugs again. "It's fine. I only remember you 'cause I took note of the fact that you are definitely a hazard."

Eddie snorts, but before he can agree, a voice booms from the porch of the house behind Mimi. "Mingmei!" shouts a man with a heavy accent that Eddie doesn't recognize. The man continues shouting other things in a language he can't understand.

Mimi sighs. "That would be my dad."

"Come stay with us," Richie blurts out to the surprise of all. Eddie stares at him with wide eyes, but Richie continues: "We have, like, a boys' home thing going on, and it would be nice to see a new face around, y'know?"

She just laughs again. "Yeah, no. I don't think so. My parents would not be fond of that idea."

"No, I'm serious," Richie says. "Whatever's going on with your dad seems pretty intense. Come stay with us. There's only two other guys, and I'm pretty sure they've got some kind of gay tryst thing going on, so you've got nothing to worry about. Swear to god."

The corner of Mimi's mouth quirks up. "Look, I don't think that's a good idea. I've got school and a job—"

"You've got a job?" Richie's eyes go wide. "Like, one that doesn't involve drugs or crime? A legitimate, paying job?"

Mimi nods.

"Dude," Richie breathes, "if you come live with us I'll literally marry you."

She rolls her eyes. "No, thank you." A soft smile. "I'll think about it, okay? I'm sure this isn't the last time I'll be seeing you."

"Mingmei! Come inside  _now_!" her father calls. 

Mimi bites her lip. "I'll see you guys around." Her boots clack on the sidewalk as she turns and hurries up to the front door of her house. 

When they see the door slam shut, Eddie trains his wide eyes on Richie. "What the fuck was that?"

Richie shrugs and kicks a rock across the pavement. "Just trying to make friends, Eds."

"You can't just go around inviting people to live with us."

"I feel bad, okay?" He grimaces and folds his arms. "I almost, like,  _killed_ her. And don't you remember how it felt, knowing we had a home where we could escape all the shit we dealt with? Boris gladly welcomed us to the family. Don't be like Theo. That didn't feel good."

Eddie scoffs. "As if she'd even take you up on the offer. She already said no."

"She said she'll think about it."

"Why does it fucking matter? You don't even know her!"

"Neither do you!"

Eddie doesn't say anything else. He just sets his mouth in a firm line and shoves Richie's chest as hard as he can. 

He stumbles back, lurching forward to regain his balance. "Eds, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Richie hisses, clenching his fists at his sides. He refuses to hit back.

"What's wrong with  _you_?" Eddie shouts. "You're so fucking horny that you can't just leave a girl alone?"

"What are you—" Richie cuts himself off, scrubbing his face with his hands. "Why are you being such an asshole right now? I literally didn't even do anything."

Eddie laughs—a cold, unforgiving sound. "You just want to get your dick wet. I've seen you try all this shit before. Well, newsflash: she's not interested! So stop fucking—"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Richie interrupts quietly. He stares down at the ground, and for once, Eddie lets the silence linger. "You do know that I can be a good person too, right?"

The wind sends a chill down Eddie's spine. "Of course I know that."

Richie nods. "Yeah, I'm sure you do." He sits down on the curb and pulls out a cigarette.

Instead of making a snide comment—of course Richie brought cigarettes; who would he be without them?—Eddie sits down beside him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Richie pats down his pockets for a lighter but comes up empty. He sticks the unlit cigarette between his teeth anyway and lets it balance on his lip as he speaks: "I just don't ever know what you want from me. You tell me to fuck off but then as soon as I'm friendly towards anyone else, you lose your shit. I'm sorry that I'm trying to be helpful. I'm sorrier about stealing your first kiss. What else do you want from me?"

"Nothing," Eddie says quickly. "Look, you're right, okay? I'm just being a dick. You know I like provoking you."

That earns him a laugh. "Ain't that the truth."

Eddie smiles. "If it makes you feel any better about the whole stolen-first-kiss situation, you could always just give it back."

Richie doesn't move for a moment. "What?" he asks, the forgotten cigarette falling from his open mouth to the sidewalk between them. 

"You took it from me. Give it back." Eddie shifts so he's facing Richie completely, a leg tucked underneath him and the other splayed out in the desolate street.

A certain unpleasantness churns in Richie's stomach. "Eds, are you serious? Or are you just fucking with me right now?"

Eddie shrugs. "It's not a big deal. I've kissed plenty of girls"—a lie—"so this won't even count for anything."

After a brief evaluation of Eddie's expression, Richie determines that he is serious. "Okay, um. So I'll just..." He leans in, a bit awkward, and presses his lips to Eddie's. It's a quick but firm kiss, something that Richie can brush off as two best friends just messing around.

Then Eddie slides a hand around the back of his neck, and it's all over for Richie.

Eddie is the one to let the adrenaline push him forward. Upon being asked where this bravery came from, he would mostly likely say anyone would feel pretty fucking brave after ditching their manipulative mother and finally taking charge of their own life. 

Inwardly, however, he feels like this is no act of bravery at all; it's one of selfishness. 

Richie, on the other hand, thinks Eddie is just about the bravest person he knows. He's felt that way for a very long time.

It's quiet as they part, both just taking in the shared breath between them. They stay like that for a few moments, faces close, eyes shut.

"No homo," Eddie finally whispers, and Richie practically dies laughing.

╌╌╌╌╌╌

It's ten o'clock and pitch black outside when Theo and Boris finally get home. They're quiet as they enter the kitchenette, trying to survey the situation.

Eddie is nowhere to be found, but Richie sits at the counter with a box of Cheez-Its. "He hates me," Richie concludes, mostly to himself. "He's acting like he's forgiven me, but I know he hates me."

"He doesn't hate you, Ratibor. That is impossible." Boris gives Theo a subtle nod in the direction of their room, Eddie's most likely hideout of choice. They have a silent argument before Theo finally leaves. "Look, I have wonderful family news that will be sure to lighten the mood! Just hang on, Ratibor." He pats Richie's shoulder. "This will blow over."

They are soon joined by the other two boys, who don't seem to be in the same grumpy mood as Richie. Eddie sticks his hand in the box of Cheez-Its and gives his best friend a tiny smile, receiving a relieved grin from Richie.

Boris stands and allows Eddie to take his seat. "Okay, children of mine, I have some very special news for you all." He reaches over and turns the faucet on full blast, beaming like a maniac. "We are rich!"

There are a few seconds where nothing happens. Then, Theo speaks: "What?"

This was clearly not the joyful celebration that Boris had expected. He frowns and grabs a handful of Cheez-Its. "We are rich, Potter! Millionaires!"

Theo is shaking as he stands, reaching out to grab Boris's wrist and squeeze hard. "How many millions?"

"Approximately nine tenths of a million. But still, very close to one!" Boris's cheesy grin is plastered back on his face as he looks around the room.

Richie leaps to his feet. "Holy fuck! Are you serious right now?"

"Of course he's serious," Eddie says, voice shaking. He grabs Boris's free hand. "What are you gonna' do with it all?"

This is a concept that Boris has not yet had the pleasure of exploring. He's spent so long paying bills and having next to nothing left over (who knew houses were expensive?) that the sudden abundance of money has required him to think outside of his natural realm of possibilities. His main issue is Theo, however. He may not be a man of integrity, but Theo is very concerned with the idea of being arrested. He probably won't be too happy with Boris's explanation of just how he acquired this money.

Boris just keeps on smiling. "I will invest half of it. I have theory that in next few years, Disney will buy Amazon or Amazon will buy Disney. Most likely Disney buys Amazon. Then we will double our money and be two-millionaires!"

"We are having a conversation about this later," Theo warns, "but for now, I'm cleaning out our liquor cabinet."

"I'll help clean!" Eddie volunteers, and the group disperses before Richie can explain that Theo didn't mean what Eddie thinks he meant.

Before Boris can completely disappear, Richie stops him with a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, um. What are we gonna' do with the other half that you're not investing?"

Another trademark manic grin spreads across Boris's sharp, pale face. "Blow it all on shit we don't need, obviously." He ruffles Richie's hair and nudges him back to the kitchen.

╌╌╌╌╌╌

After ten minutes or so, Richie leaves Theo and Eddie to their celebration in the kitchen (they were mostly ignoring him, anyway). He politely knocks on the doorframe before entering the bedroom-slash-office.

"Can I talk to you? Cousin to cousin?"

Boris glances up from his computer, flashing a bright smile. "Of course, Ratibor! Come in, come in."

He closes the door behind him and sits on the bed, awkwardly picking at the sleeve of his shirt. "Thanks."

"What do you need to talk about?" asks Boris, swiveling around in his chair to give Richie his full attention.

"Um," Richie begins intelligently. "When you guys ran away, um. What happened?"

This is something that has been on Richie's mind for quite a while now. Even after weeks of getting on Theo's good side (and witnessing his chatty drunken blackouts), he still refuses to offer up any information about his and Boris's runaway days. The closest Richie got to hearing anything about their lives pre-escape was when Theo mentioned that someone named Xandra (he specifically said "Xandra with an  _X_") gave him the crushed-up Vicodin in their kitchen cabinet. Just from the spelling of her name and Theo's general nature, Richie was able to draw the conclusion that nothing was "given" to anyone. 

Boris tilts his head. "Do you mean why Potter and I came here?"

Richie shrugs. "I dunno'. I guess, like, while we were driving, I just kinda' felt...I don't know. I felt different. Like I was sitting in my own skin again. I want to know if that's how you felt too."

"Mm," Boris hums, tapping his chin. "I get what you mean. Perhaps I tell you story. Then you know what I felt."

A nod. "Okay."

Boris gets up from his chair and plops down on the bed next to Richie, reaching over into the nightstand and pulling out a little rectangular box. "Don't tell Potter; I told him I quit," he says with a mischievous smile before lighting up a cigarette.

Richie tries to avoid choking on the smoke in the air, opting to give his cousin a thumbs-up even though he's sure Theo knows Boris didn't quit.

"So. It was when we were at your age, probably. Potter's father had just gotten into an accident..."

_Theo stands there in the street, pleading eyes trained on Boris's._

_"The public schools are good in New York, I know people there, public school's fine with me—" he rambles, and he's still rambling when Boris takes his face in both hands._

_"Potter," he says before kissing Theo on the mouth, and it's over in barely even a moment. "Go without me," he whispers. _

_Boris takes off down the street to his house, which has become much less of a home ever since the first time Theo invited Boris to his own. He feels that dull tug in his stomach, the one telling him that he should have just told Theo about the painting in his locker at school—the one he's ignored time and time again._

_The painting is still there when he checks the next day, and Boris has never been both so relieved and so angry at the same time. He wants nothing more than to have this sin taken out of his hands, but he knows where the painting is; he has this piece of Theo that no one else has ever gotten to hold and appreciate quite like Boris has._

_He slams his locker shut, painting tucked under his arm, and there is Theo, staring up at him with narrow eyes._

_"Holy fucking shit," he hisses, flinching backward. "Potter? What are you doing here?"_

_Theo grabs Boris's arms and pulls him in close, lowering his voice so he doesn't attract attention. "I love you."_

_Boris almost drops the painting. He knew that already, of course—that Theo loves him—but now that it's been said out loud, he panics. Does Theo know Boris loves him too? Does he mean it in a just-friends way or something more—something less? Boris isn't sure how he would feel about any of those options._

_"Come with me." Theo's eyes dart all over Boris's face, but he can't tell what he's looking for. "I'm not going without you."_

_And, Boris realizes, that is all he needs. Maybe it was worth an entire night of agonizing pain—the loss of a friend, a partner-in-crime, a soul linked to his very own at its core—if it means that he gets to have the painting back, because god knows that Boris would have gotten into the cab in a heartbeat if Theo had asked just one more time._

_"Yes." He steps forward so there is almost no distance between them. "Of course I will, Potter."_

_Theo looks around and moves away, gaze landing on the item Boris is holding. "What's that?"_

_"Civics textbook," Boris says immediately, clutching the painting protectively. _

_"Why is it covered with newspaper?"_

_Boris frowns. "Are we leaving or are you going to stand here asking stupid questions, Potter?"_

_They end up in a cab first. Boris packs his things and manages to swap the painting with his textbook as he's shoving his bag in the trunk. He can't ever tell Theo that he took the painting—it would destroy him._

_Boris doesn't ask where they're going; he already knows. All Theo talked about for a very long time, around the time Boris was dating Kotku, was Pippa The New York Girl._

_For the first time, as they're getting out of the cab at a bus stop, Boris questions his decision to come along. If he's just going to be there to third-wheel Theo and his traumatized girlfriend, he wants out. He would rather live a life without knowing what became of Theo than lose what is going to be right in front of him for the rest of his life._

_They're on the bus, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, knee-to-knee, the backs of their hands brushing every so often until it feels purposeful, when Boris realizes why he is so opposed to the idea of New York And Pippa And Her Boyfriend And The Drug Addict They Hang Out With. He doesn't necessarily need to spell it out; the more he thinks about it, the more obvious he realizes it should have been._

_He wonders if this is how it was for Theo when he watched Boris run down the street that night: clammy palms, racing heart, dry mouth, shortness of breath. Then he wonders if it wasn't like that for Theo at all—if he just sighed and shook his head and told the cab to leave, showed up at school because he didn't want to be alone on his journey and Boris was the only poor soul that would come with. He wonders if Theo stood there for hours, staring down the street like he could still see Boris, or if he wrinkled his nose in disgust and immediately got in the car before changing his mind when he realized he didn't have enough money to get all the way to a bus stop._

_He knows he should have looked back._

_Boris sticks his pinkie out and tugs Theo's thumb, coaxing him to turn his hand over. Slowly, agonizingly, he slips his fingers between Theo's and doesn't look at him. Boris feels him tense up, knows his eyes are darting around the bus to check who is watching. _

_"I love you too, Potter."_

_Theo relaxes immediately as if he had been hanging in suspense, waiting and wondering if Boris was ever going to say it back. _

_"I love you very much," Boris continues because he can't stop now that it's out. "I love you so much that I follow you to New York even though I know you forget about me as soon as we get there and you see New York Girl"—pretending to forget her name makes Theo furious, and it gives Boris a sick sense of satisfaction—"and you do not care for me anymore."_

_There is a moment where Theo is completely silent. An ill anxiety settles in Boris's stomach, and the hand holding Theo's has gone completely numb. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. Maybe this was too much, maybe Theo is upset with him, maybe, maybe, maybe—_

_"We're not going to New York."_

_Boris lets go of his tight grip on Theo's hand—oh,  that's why it went numb—and pulls him into a crushing embrace, nearly throwing Popper off Theo's lap. "Thank Jesus fucking Christ, Potter; I was so worried about going to big city and losing you to the streets or the people or—"_

_"Boris," Theo wheezes, shoving at his chest. "Let go."_

_He complies, pulling away and reaching up to hold Theo's face. "I could kiss you right now."_

_It seems that whatever was going on between them last night is gone as Theo pushes Boris's hands away and says: "Please don't. Also, Pippa doesn't even live in New York anymore. We could go to Hobie's, but I'm not sure how he would feel about your, uh, habits." He taps his nose._

_Boris laughs and punches Theo's arm. "_Our _ habits, Potter."_

_ Theo winces and rubs the area of impact. "Ow. Why do you insist on assaulting me all the time?" _

_ "Because I love you, Potter." Boris smiles, and for a moment he thinks Theo is going to say it back, but he just turns to watch the sunset. _

"He is selfish in the way that he loves me, I think," Boris says fondly, staring off into the ether like he's talking to the stars. "He keeps it to himself."

"How do you know he loves you, then?" Richie asks before coughing into his arm.

Boris puts out the cigarette on the nightstand. "He doesn't have to say it to me. We both knew already, I think. And at the end of the day it doesn't matter in what way because he would never be able to admit it to me or to himself if he loved me like romance." He laughs to himself. "And how could he not? I'm great. He is a bitch. Theo makes it very hard to love him, yet I somehow manage. He will never say it to me again, I don't think."

"How can you just be okay with that?" Richie furrows his eyebrows. "I think I would lose my mind if I had to deal with that."

With a chuckle, Boris reaches over and ruffles Richie's hair. "Is good thing your Ezechiel loves you very much, then. He tells you sometimes too, doesn't he?"

Richie scoffs and shakes his head. "He just bitches at me constantly. I love him for it, though."

Boris just hums. "Oh. Well, he tells me all the time."

"What?" Richie is now at full attention. "What do you mean?"

"Ezechiel talk about you like you hung the moon," Boris says like it's obvious. "He doesn't shut up about it. Like Theo with New York Girl."

"Or you with Kotku," Richie mutters evasively. 

Boris frowns. "Who told you that?"

"Guess."

"No. Is not like me and Kotku. He talk about you like he loves you."

Richie knows he gives Eddie shit for blushing all the time, but that's only because he is embarrassed by his own, quite like the one he is sporting right now. "What does he say?"

Boris looks smug. "He says you are his favorite person. That he can't think of a place in the multiverse with its infinite possibilities in which he wouldn't run away with you over and over and over again."

"He said all that?" Richie is skeptical. Eddie is not nearly that eloquent. 

With a laugh, Boris concedes. "I am paraphrasing a bit, but that is mostly to cut out the crying and the cursing."

Richie's heart pounds. "Crying? Why was he crying? When was this?"

Boris purses his lips. "Well, when you and Potter run errands, sometimes he and I have...chats. They get heavy more often than not."

"What were you guys talking about?"

For the first time ever, Richie can tell Boris is nervous. "Perhaps I have said too much."

Richie takes a moment to breathe. "Fine," he says evenly. "Okay. I'm going to sleep."

╌╌╌╌╌╌

Back in the kitchen, Eddie and Theo are finishing up their first box of Cheez-Its.

"If he did something that's going to get us caught, I will kill him." Theo has muttered some variation of those words at least a dozen times, and Eddie has had to talk him down just as much. 

"He wouldn't be that dumb. Plus, doesn't he do illegal shit all the time?"

Theo frowns and pours another shot of something golden-brown (Eddie doesn't know alcohol). "He sells. Low-risk deals, mostly, and he rarely meets the buyer in person. He has guys for that. I don't know what he does when he goes into the city, but I know he'd never be stupid enough to get caught."

The bedroom door opens and shuts behind them, and out comes Richie. "I'm turning in for the night. You coming, Eds?"

Eddie hops off the stool and swallows the food in his mouth. "Coming!" He meets Theo's eyes and offers a reassuring smile. "This can only be a good thing, right?"

Theo offers no response, instead opting to clean up the kitchen. He stares at the faucet, the appliance that has been the cause of many household arguments, and turns it on. 

They're rich.

God save them all.

╌╌╌╌╌╌

It's exactly one in the morning when Theo wakes up cold.

"Boris," he mumbles, groggily shaking the boy awake. "It's freezing.

Boris shifts and slides his arm out from under Theo. "I'll be back."

Theo knows that if Richie had been there, he would have made a reference to  _Terminator_, but he's not so nobody does. Instead, Theo curls up on Boris's side of the bed and basks in the warmth. He falls asleep to the silence of Boris's absence.

Boris tries his best not to disturb Theo when he comes back to their room, but he stirs awake anyway. "Why is it so cold?"

"Heat stopped, I think. I forgot to pay bill."

Theo grumbles and lifts the blanket. "But you still paid all the others? You're a dumbass."

"Sh, Potter. Just go back to sleep."

"Nope, I'm awake now. Turn on the TV."

Boris grabs the remote from his nightstand and plops down on the bed. "Are we watching Kardashians again or different channel?"

"Kardashians," Theo says through a yawn, shifting so he can see the television. "Always the Kardashians."

Boris pulls Theo closer to him and keeps him there. They lay like that for a while, and as Boris's eyelids grow heavier Theo only wakes up more.

"This is a stupid question," he begins, "but what do you think about fate?"

The sharp lines of Boris's face glow with the soft blue hues of the television screen. Perhaps this is what Theo misses the most when Boris is off in Chicago doing god knows what: the way he looks in the hours that Theo spends dreaming of a lesser sight when he's home alone for days on end; the way Boris's arm stretches out, thrown across the back of the couch in the opposite direction of where Theo is seated when they are without the privacy of their bedroom. Maybe he misses it the most because he can easily cast aside every confusing ritual they maintain on the daily—it's just silence and Netflix and good, friendly company.

"Fate is something you read about in books," Boris finally answers. "I believe in the inevitable nature."

Theo breathes in, out, in, out, in: "Yeah, I remember. Weather patterns and shit."

"Big fucking clouds, Potter. They swallow our sky whole." He looks over and meets Theo's gaze. It's unnerving, almost, the ease with which his eyes bore into Theo's soul. "They are everything I know. I live by the inevitable nature."

"So you really call it that every time, then? 'The inevitable nature'?" Theo teases, mimicking Boris's accent. 

Boris smiles. "Is what it is. The inevitable nature told us we would end up together somehow, that day we met and it did not rain."

With a snort, Theo crosses his arms incredulously. "It was the middle of the desert; it doesn't rain there."

"It does when two people are not meant to be friends, Potter." Boris turns back to the television. "And we are meant to be."

╌╌╌╌╌╌

The stars are out in the Midwest. They're the brightest that Eddie has ever seen.

Back in Derry, the stars were always covered by clouds or smog or he wasn't in the position to enjoy them. On those nights, when his mother kept him cooped up in his room and he was frightened out of his mind, he would try to see the stars

Neck craned, arms trembling as he held himself up over the window sill, he would try to see past the branches that blocked his view of the outside world. Time and time again, as if the tree wouldn't just grow larger as the years went by, he tried as hard as he could, but he never did see the sky from that window. 

The stars dim for a moment, and Eddie glances over to his left.

"Awful pretty, ain't it?" Richie drawls in a horrible southern accent. The mood is broken, as it tends to be whenever he speaks.

Eddie wrinkles his nose, disgusted by the wretched stench of the cloud Richie is puffing. "Can you stop that? You're ruining my view."

A flash of pearly white teeth. "My view's just fine, baby." He takes another drag. "Also, I can't stop. 'twas a gift from the lovebirds."

"You know I hate weed."

"How is that my problem?" Richie asks, staring at Eddie for a second before swinging his legs over the side of the lawn chair he had been lounging on. "You're not the one smoking it." He blows a perfect ring right in Eddie's face.

There are a number of things that go through Eddie's head in the brief silence that follows: he hates Richie Tozier, he wants to murder Richie Tozier, and he would kill somebody to be on top of Richie Tozier, whom he is also in love with. 

"Fuck you!" Eddie shouts before scrambling off his own chair and shoving Richie back down.

Richie hits his head on the backrest, but that becomes the least of his worries as Eddie climbs on top of him and grabs the blunt, keeping Richie's wrist pinned down with his other hand. 

"Eddie, fuck, be careful!" he gasps, reaching out with his unpinned arm to hold Eddie's hip and keep him steady. 

After a few deep breaths, Eddie remembers himself. He looks up at the stars, then out at the lawn, which is an entire story below them. He releases Richie's wrist and stares down at him with wide eyes. "Remind me again how you got lawn chairs on the roof?"

He's lucky that Richie has a pretty low bar for things he finds funny because he starts laughing hysterically, and Eddie isn't sure if it's an inappropriate time to apologize so he just doesn't. 

"You need to chill out, Eds. Can I have my weed back?" Richie tries to wriggle his wrist out of Eddie's grip, but Eddie holds fast.

"Why do you need this, anyway? What does it do for you that I can't?"

Richie thinks about what a ridiculous question that is, but Eddie is looking at him so earnestly that he has to be honest. "It calms me down."

"And I don't?"

He laughs again. "Eds, you do the literal opposite of calm me down. You're the least calming person I know."

Eddie frowns like this is a bad thing. "That is  _not_ true."

Richie grabs Eddie's wrist, guiding him to hold his hand over Richie's thundering heart. "You feel that?" he asks, eyeing the blunt still in his best friend's hand. In his current state of mind, he can't stop his gaze from traveling up Eddie's arm, all the way to his face and his pouty lips and round, dark eyes. "That's because of you."

Aforementioned round, dark eyes shift to meet Richie's. "Because of me?"

Richie flashes a lopsided smile. "You're kinda' sitting on my dick right now."

Eddie flinches away, but Richie uses his two newly-free hands to pull Eddie back down into his lap. "Hey, chill, I'm joking. My wang isn't even big enough to reach where you're sitting."

"Wow, Trashmouth makes a joke about having a small dick for once! I'd say it was classy if you hadn't used the word 'wang.'"

"What's wrong with the word 'wang'?"

"It's vulgar. I hate it."

"You hate everything I do. 'ts why you hate smoking."

"That's not true. I hate smoking because you're putting god-knows-what chemicals into your body. You're gonna' get cancer, dumbass."

Richie plucks the blunt from Eddie's fingers and takes a hit. He carefully blows the smoke away from Eddie this time. "I think you're just jealous that I'm having such a good time."

"I know you're deflecting because you know I'm right. Theo agrees with me too, he just doesn't follow the principle in practice—wait, did you say you got that from both of them?" Eddie asks, eyes narrowed.

"Well, it was a gift from Boris, at least. A gift that I stole from his desk."

"Richie!" Eddie smacks his best friend's arm, but he can't help the laughter that escapes. "You motherfucking—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm a horrible bum that fills my body with chemicals. Whatever." Richie scoots over a bit and pulls Eddie so they're both laying down.

Eddie presses his face to Richie's chest and closes his eyes, humming as he feels long fingers card through his hair. "You know I don't think that about you. I just wish you would take better care of yourself."

There is an exhale, and Eddie can't tell if Richie is just blowing out smoke or if he's sighing. "You wanna' try it?"

"Of course I don't want to fucking—"

"Look, Eds. I don't think you're a pussy or whatever for not wanting to try weed. I actually really respect that and I don't want to pressure you at all. I'm just saying that I feel like you really need to let off some steam." He gives Eddie's hair a gentle tug. "I have a way we can do it without technically making you smoke. You probably won't even get high. It'll just calm you down."

Eddie hates that he knows Richie will back off if he is denied one more time, but what he hates even more is that he does kind of want to try it. "You're lucky that you caught me in a good mood, Richard."

Richie grins. "I don't think it's possible for you to be in a good mood. Scoot up."

He takes a drag but doesn't exhale as Eddie moves up so they're face-to-face. Heart pounding, Richie leans forward and gently blows the smoke between Eddie's parted lips. "Just breathe it in," he instructs quietly, eyes focused on Eddie's mouth.

Eddie doesn't even cough when he exhales. "Shit. That feels weird."

"I know. Are you done?"

After a moment of thought, Eddie shakes his head. "But this is both my first and last time doing this, so enjoy it while it lasts."

Richie grins. "Sure will, Eddie Spaghetti." This time, he presses his lips to Eddie's as lightly as possible and lets the smoke transfer before pulling away. 

Eddie's eyes flutter open halfway—Richie wonders when he closed them—and a blush spreads across his face. "Do that again."

He keeps the kisses so light that sometimes their lips don't even touch; it's just their open-mouthed breaths, the quiet sound of Eddie inhaling the smoke. More often than not, however, he does feel the soft press of Eddie's mouth to his, but he dares not push further. A roof is no place for such risks.

"Stan would kill me if he knew I did this." Eddie yawns and props himself up on an elbow to look down at Richie. "He'd call me a hypocrite."

Richie takes a long drag and blows a ring up at the stars (he learned how to do that yesterday and is very proud of himself). He hasn't thought about Stan in a long time, and now he's having trouble picturing his own best friend's face. He suddenly remembers, with a pang of guilt, that he had promised to Facetime Beverly at least once every week. He hasn't even had the thought to check for any missed calls.

"Yeah, well. Stan's uptight."

Eddie scowls and uses a hand to turn Richie's head and meet his eyes. "You have to share, Trashmouth. Plus, Stan isn't uptight just 'cause he hates weed. Don't be so fucking judgy."

"Relax, Eds, I'm kidding." He shotguns another hit to Eddie. "You smoke now and you're still uptight," he mutters, smiling devilishly.

He receives a puff of smoke to his face. "Yeah, whatever." Eddie yawns and snuggles back down against Richie's chest. "'m tired."

"I can tell."

"You finish that thing up. I'm just gonna' go to sleep."

"Wait." Richie would, in theory, like to dramatically grab Eddie's wrist, but both are currently trapped between their bodies so he doesn't. "You said something to me a while ago, when we first got here."

It's something he has been mulling over for a very long time. He'd wanted to talk about it then, but everything was happening so fast and it wasn't a good time. Now, everything has slowed down—almost to a blurry stop. "You told me that Boris is hot."

Eddie is silent for a moment. "I don't remember that."

The whole chair shifts as Richie moves to look Eddie in the eyes. "I do. You said it. And then you told me I look like Boris." He grins. "Were you saying you think I'm hot?"

Eddie tries his best to not look as embarrassed as he feels. "I didn't think you caught that."

With a laugh, Richie tousles Eddie's hair and says, "I've been thinking about it for the past month, Eds."

He is only met with a glare. "I don't think I like you when you're high."

Richie laughs. "That's mean. Plus, I'm not even high. You don't get high the first time."

"It's not your first time, and that's definitely not true," Eddie argues, "and this is not your first time. And I regret smoking with you. A thousand percent regret."

Sighing, Richie presses the lit end of the blunt to the shingled roof. "Fine, it's out. I'm done."

At least he forgot about the whole calling-him-hot thing, Eddie figures as they lay in silence. His chest feels tight and he's suffocating, like they're trapped in a bubble filled with gaseous marijuana. This feels wrong, like the innocence has been vacuumed from their friendship and funneled into only what exists in Eddie's mind, of which the memories are few. He doesn't know how to fix it. 

"Can we take a walk?" Eddie suggests on a whim.

Richie smiles—his automatic reaction to essentially everything Eddie says—and stands (as much as he can on a roof, anyway). "'course, Spagheds." He offers a hand to his best friend, who takes it and lets Richie pull him to his feet.

They carefully climb down from the roof, using the same footholds on the windowsill with which they made their way up. It's a bit chilly, but Eddie would rather have the Midwest wind than the musty atmosphere in his house in Derry. He could barely breathe there—too much dirt and dust drifting up from old pill bottles and down from the mold on the waterlogged ceiling—and he doesn't want to replicate that feeling. He doesn't want to ever feel it again.

They go east. Eddie can almost imagine the sun is rising, though it's far too early in the night for that. But he feels like this is a sunrise moment—walking with his best friend and the only thing he can always count on, whether that be for a laugh or for the worst anxiety he's ever known.

"I'm sorry," Richie says after they've turned down a few streets. He doesn't elaborate.

"Okay," says Eddie. "I forgive you. As long as you promise to stop smoking."

Richie rolls his eyes. "You're not my girlfriend, Eds."

"Stop treating me like I am, then."

They're quiet for a little while longer. It seems like the tenseness will never go away, and just when Eddie feels as if he might burst with it, Richie breaks the silence.

"I just meant I'm sorry for everything. I made you come here with me and it's been a lot harder than I thought." He stops, taking a firm hold of Eddie's hand and pulling him to a halt on the sidewalk. "And I'm sorry for," he swallows, "for treating you in any way that made you upset with me. That's not what I ever intended."

Eddie narrows his eyes and pulls his hand away. "Well said, Rich. You rehearse that?"

Richie laughs and stuffs his fists in the pockets of his jeans. "A little bit. I've been thinking about it a lot. Took second rank just below your mom."

"That one wasn't good at all," Eddie points out. "Poorly timed."

"That's my specialty, dude." He offers a weak smile. "I just feel like things have been weird between us ever since I forced you to live with me. I didn't ever mean to make you hate me."

If Eddie's heart has ever been broken, this is a thousand times worse. He just shakes his head and pulls his best friend into a hug, speaking into his neck: "Jesus, Rich, I could never hate you. It's just weird 'cause we're in two totally different places right now."

Richie hugs Eddie tightly for only a few moments before gently pushing him away. "I just didn't want to let you down," he admits quietly.

"You could never—"

"You say that," Richie interrupts, "but you don't mean it. I've let you down plenty of times before. You just stick around because you feel bad for me."

Eddie's mouth falls open helplessly. "You're joking."

With a shrug, Richie kicks at the ground.

"You have to be joking." Eddie's eyebrows furrow as his anger builds. "You can't fucking—you can't seriously believe that. Stop fishing for compliments, jackass."

"See!" Richie throws his arms out, vaguely gesturing at the shorter boy. "The fact that you believe I'd say this shit to fish for compliments proves my point."

Eddie scrubs his face with his hands. "God, I don't—that's not what I meant to say. I'm sorry." He grabs Richie's wrists to keep him in place. "I just don't know how you can think that's true. I want to be here with you, okay? I really do. This is way better than whatever the fuck we were doing before."

"But I can't even  _remember_ half that shit for the life of me," Richie argues. "Don't you think that's fucking weird?"

"Yeah, it's weird, but don't you think it's happening for a reason? What if we have nothing to go back to?" Eddie pulls his best friend closer, desperately trying to keep him reigned in. "I want to be here."

Richie sighs. "You don't even trust me anymore, Eds. What's the point of being here together if you can't trust me?"

"Who the fuck ever said I don't trust you?"

"You did! Loads of times!" Richie tries to pull away, but Eddie doesn't let him.

"I don't remember ever saying that to you. And if I did, I obviously never meant it. I've told you everything. Mostly."

Richie makes a frustrated noise. "You haven't! I know you haven't. I know you and I know you hide things from me."

"If I tell you my biggest secret, will you feel better?" He says it without meaning to, almost like it was completely involuntary. It's not like he can take it back now, though he wishes he could.

Richie, on the other hand, looks absolutely delighted. "Really? You'd do that just to make me feel better? 'cause you totally don't have to—"

"No, I...I should. You're my best friend. I trust you. I should tell you."

"Okay, good. I would have been sad if you took it back." Richie beams excitedly. "What is it, then?"

Eddie shifts his weight and reaches up to scratch at the back of his head, a gesture he picked up from Ben somewhere along the way. "Look, I...Okay, so, you know how Bev found out that Henry Bowers and Patrick Hockstetter were, like, hooking up?"

Snorting, Richie pushes his glasses up on his nose. That is one of the few memories from Derry that he doesn't think he can ever forget. "Yeah. I remember her telling us about that. It was fucking gross."

The shorter boy rubs his arm and pointedly stares at the ground. "Well. I mean. He must've had a pretty good gaydar, y'know?"

The raise of an eyebrow. "Huh?"

Eddie shrugs and scratches at his arm, the risen ghost of an itchy cast irritating his skin. "I mean, like, that makes him at least somewhat, you know, gay."

Richie shakes his head. "I don't follow, Eds."

"It's just..." Eddie lets out a longsuffering sigh. "He always knew, Richie. Even when we were in, like, sixth grade. Bowers always fucking knew, and  I didn't even know, and..." He scrubs his face with a thoroughly moisturized hand. "I'm gay, Richie. That's what I'm saying."

And the next thing Richie does damns him for possibly all of eternity: an involuntary pump of his fist, triumphantly extending his arm towards the sky, a single word shouted into the night.

"_Yes_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am i probably going to have to add a fifth chapter? yes, yes i am.

**Author's Note:**

> Boreo playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/slrandomperson/playlist/4Ucy8Ax2AAInDAh2DAHWnE?si=dZBPt0z4QOG1UpDcI29U_g
> 
> <3


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